TALES  FROM  THE  GERMAN 

OP 

HEINRICH  ZSCHOKKE. 


BY 


PARKE  GODWIN 


NEW  EDITION 


NEW  YORK: 
WILEY    &  HALSTED 

No,  S51  BROADWAY. 
1856. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1845,  by 

WILEY  &  PUTNAM, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Southern  District  of 

New- York. 


T.  B.  Smith,  Stereotyper 
818  William  Street 


TO 

DR.  JOHN  F.  GRAY, 

W  TESTIMONY  OF  MY  RESPECT 
FOR 

HIS  SKILL  AS  A  PHYSICIAN  AND  HIS  CHARACTER  AS  A  MAN, 
THESE  VOLUMES 
ARE    INSCRIBED  BY 

THE  EDITOR. 


P 


ABOUT  THE  AUTHOR. 


It  was  the  intention  of  the  editor  to  have  written  a  full 
account  of  the  life  and  character  of  his  author,  but  as  he 
learns  that  a  translation  of  Zschokke's  "  Autobiography"  is 
likely  to  be  incorporated  with  the  present  series  of  publi- 
cations, he  refrains.  It  may  not  be  amiss,  however,  to  give 
an  outline  of  the  man,  for  the  sake  of  such  as  may  not  care 
to  see  a  larger  sketch. 

Heinrich  Zschokke  is  by  birth  a  German,  his  eyes  having 
opened  to  the  light  in  Magdeburg,  in  Prussia,  somewhere 
about  the  year  1774 — the  same  year  that  a  comet  famous 
among  the  astronomers  appeared.  His  father  had  acquired 
a.  considerable  fortune  by  selling  cloth  to  the  Prussian  army 
during  the  Seven  Years'  War;  and  his  another  died  while 
he  was  yet  a  child.  The  loss  of  the  latter  parent  seems  to 
have  produced  a  profound  impression  on  his  mind,  and  early 
inclined  him  to  religious  meditation  and  inquiry. 

He  had  little  relish  for  the  so-called  instruction  given  at 
school,  and  indeed  such  was  his  apparent  stupidity  that  the 
master  sent  him  away  before  his  term  had  expired,  to  save 
the  reputation  of  his  academy.  Yet  the  lad,  with  all  his 
stupidity,  was  a  most  diligent  reader,  and  it  was  afterwards 
discovered,  not  by  his  teacher,  that  he  had  carried  with 
him  from  the  school  a  larger  amount,  perhaps,  of  deep  and 
varied  learning  than  any  of  his  companions.    It  is  true  he 


VI 


ABOUT  THE  AUTHOR. 


began  with  such  works  as  Robinson  Crusoe,  he  continued 
through  all  the  Voyages  and  Travels  he  could  lay  his  hand 
upon,  but  he  ended — strange  as  it  is — a  most  correct 
and  accomplished  classical  scholar.  At  the  time  that  his 
school  books  were  dreadful  annoyances,  he  was  drinking 
from  the  richest  springs  of  literature  in  his  own  and  foreign 
tongues. 

There  was  another  reason  why  Zschokke  did  not  advance 
as  rapidly  as  others  with  his  regular  studies,  which  was, 
that  "he  had  already  begun  to  think,  and  his  mind  and  heart 
and  soul  were  absorbed  in  pondering  the  great  questions  of 
this  mysterious  existence  of  ours.  At  first  he  thought  that 
he  had  solved  the  whole  difficulty  by  supposing  that  the 
vast  universe  was  a  great  eight-day  clock,  in  which 
nothing  was  alive  except  God  and  himself — little  Heinrich 
Zschokke — all  the  rest  being  wound  up  and  set  a-going  on 
the  most  skilful  mechanical  principles.  But  he  soon  found 
that  this  kind  of  a  universe  would  not  do  ;  indeed,  it  did 
not  satisfy  his  own  childish  mind.  Day  and  night  his  ima- 
gination was  filled  with  the  most  extraordinary  fancies  in 
regard  to  these  matters,  and  he  shut  himself  in  the  deepest 
solitude  to  consider  them  ;  and  they  were  banished  only  by 
the  calls  which  the  necessities  of  life  made  upon  him  for 
active  exertion. 

His  first  step  in  life  was  to  go,  during  the  year  1788,  to 
Mecklenburg  Schwerin,  where  he  knew  of  an  old  friend 
that  was  an  actor,  and  whom  he  proposed  to  join.  Learn- 
ing, however,  that  his  services  would  not  be  needed  at  the 
theatre,  even  in  the  capacity  of  candle- snuffer,  he  found 
himself  in  the  world,  poor,  forlorn  and  miserable  enough — 
in  fact,  too  miserable,  he  says,  to  think  of  anything  more 
agreeable  than  the  shooting  of  himself  through  the  head. 


ABOUT  THE  AUTHOR.  vii 

But  it  happened  that  a  person,  who  had  heard  him  talking 
with  his  actor  friend,  was  much  struck  with  his  observa- 
tions, and  sought  him  out  to  ask  him  to  become  a  private 
tutor  in  his  family.  This  request  he  accepted,  and  for  a 
while  he  enjoyed  unbounded  freedom  and  kindly  social 
intercourse. 

Still  his  hankering  after  the  theatre  continued,  and  he  sub- 
sequently obtained  a  place  as  correspondent  and  poet  of  the 
theatre  at  Prenzlau.  He  accompanied  the  actors  in  their 
various  country  excursions,  and  seems  to  have  entered  into 
their  wild  and  boisterous  pranks  among  the  country  people 
with  great  heartiness.  He  amended  tragedies,  patched  up 
farces,  and  re-wrote  bloody  melo-dramas,  to  the  great  de- 
light of  his  merry  friends,  and  his  own  emolument.  Yet 
what  was  more  important,  he  contrived  to  prepare  himself 
for  entering  one  of  the  higher  universities,  which  he  suc- 
ceeded in  doing,  and  afterwards  obtained  the  highest  rank 
as  a  student.  He  there  also  wrote  a  drama  called  Abellind, 
which  speedily  became  a  popular  favorite  in  all  the  play- 
houses of  Germany,  and  acquired  no  little  reputation. 

During  the  whole  of  his  collegiate  course,  Zschokke  was 
deeply  troubled  with  religious  doubts  and  difficulties,  but 
he  became  a  disciple  of  the  philosophy  of  Kant,  and  thereby 
strengthened  his  convictions  of  Christianity  sufficiently  to 
enable  him  to  take  his  degrees  as  a  clergyman,  and  to 
preach  very  acceptably  to  his  old  friends  at  Magdeburg. 

In  1795  Zschokke  visited  Switzerland,  a  country  which 
he  had  long  sighed  after — and  becoming  interested,  immedi- 
ately on  his  arrival,  in  the  absorbing  political  disputes  of  the 
people,  he  selected  it  as  a  place  of  residence.  He  was 
chosen  head-master  of  the  Seminary  of  Reichnau,  which  at 
once  placed  him  in  a  position  to  follow  his  cherished  stu- 


viii 


ABOUT  THE  AUTHOR. 


dies  and  do  good  to  mankind.  His  political  sympathies  were 
entirely  on  the  side  of  popular  freedom,  and  in  his  autobio- 
graphy he  relate,  with  great  modesty  the  almost  incredible 
labors  he  performed  in  improving  the  condition  of  the  lower 
people,  in  animating  the  hearts  of  the  patriots,  in  writing 
for  the  moral  and  religious  instruction  of  all  classes,  while 
he  was  at  the  same  time  patiently  instructing  a  numerous 
family  of  youth.  His  public  services  were  of  the  most  dis- 
interested and  useful  kind,  impelled  by  a  vehement  enthusi- 
asm for  the  advancement  of  his  fellow  men,  yet  controlled 
by  remarkable  sagacity  and  calmness  of  judgment.  Among 
the  poorer  sort  of  people  he  was  almost  worshipped  as  a 
benefactor — all  the  while  that  the  more  learned  and  idle 
classes  were  instructed  by  grave  histories,  or  moved  alter- 
nately to  laughter  or  tears  by  the  most  winning  and  grace- 
ful fictions. 

Zschokke's  literary  labors  comprised  the  "  Schwitzer 
Bote,"  a  periodical  undertaken  to  diffuse  useful  knowledge 
among  the  agricultural  population  in  regard  to  their  parti- 
cular branch  of  industry  ;  a  History  of  the  Princes  and 
People  of  Bavaria,"  undertaken  at  the  instance  of  the  cele- 
brated historian  Joannes  Von  Muller  ;  a  "  History  of  Switz- 
erland:" the  "Miscellany,"  a  periodical  work  on  physical 
science,  addressed  to  the  Swiss  people  ;  some  eight  or  ten 
novels  and  about  fifty  tales,  and  a  book  of  religious  devo- 
tion, called  M  Hours  of  Meditation,"  which  was  published  at 
intervals,  in  twelve  volumes,  and  has  already  gone  through 
twenty-seven  editions.  Some  of  his  talcs  have  reached  the 
fortieth  regular  edition. 

Zschokke,  it  has  been  remarked,  was  greatly  troubled 
with  religious  misgivings.  He  tried  to  read  and  reason 
them  down ;  he  found  a  temporary  support  in  the  philoso- 


ABOUT  THE  AUTHOR.  ix 

phy  of  Kant ;  but  it  was  all  in  vain.  Only  after  he  had 
engaged  earnestly  in  patriotic  exertion  ;  only  after  he  gave 
himself  to  deeds  of  active  benevolence — did  these  distress- 
ing feelings  leave  him,  and  the  gospel  of  Christ  reveal  itself 
to  his  mind  as  in  truth  Divine.  He  passed  from  the  dark 
and  tempestuous  abyss  on  which  he  had  floated,  up  into  the 
serene  heaven  of  a  living  Faith,  not  through  the  narrow 
gateway  of  a  wretched  Logic,  but  along  the  broad  and  beau- 
tiful road  of  actual  Work.  When  he  ceased  to  wrestle 
with  the  grim  spectres  of  the  imagination,  and  addressed 
himself  with  true  manly  earnestness  to  the  great  business 
of  life,  he  found  peace.  Traces  of  his  feelings  in  his  various 
spiritual  moods  will  be  found  throughout  his  fictions. 

In  1805  our  author  was  married,  and  still  lives  at  a  sim- 
ple and  beautiful  country  place  near  Aarau,  surrounded  by 
a  large  family,  and  universally  esteemed  wherever  he  is 
known.  In  the  seventy-fourth  year  of  his  age,  after  an 
intensely  exciting  but  useful  life,  he  awaits  with  calmness 
the  summons  to  the  eternal  world. 

Zschokke's  literary  works  have  been  generally  under- 
taken with  no  view  to  either  wealth  or  fame,  having  been 
mostly  suggested  from  time  to  time  by  the  incidents  of  his 
daily  experience.  His  romances,  particularly,  are  the  re- 
sults of  moments  of  recreation  when  he  would  relieve  his 
mind  from  severer  tasks.  Yet  I  scarcely  know  a  writer 
who  has  been  more  successful  in  this  walk  of  art.  Of  the 
forty  or  fifty  tales  of  his  which  I  have  read,  no  two  are 
alike — so  great  is  his  variety — yet  all  are  marked  by  an 
easy  grace  of  manner,  purity  of  language,  and  rapid  and 
interesting  incidents.  The  merely  humorous  among  them, 
irresistibly  droll  as  many  of  them  are,  can  hardly  offend 
any  taste,  while  they  often  illustrate  important  truths.  But 


ABOUT  THE  AUTHOR. 


the  more  serious  will  be  found  to  be  pervaded  by  a  profound 
religious  philosophy — combining  the  broadest  liberality 
with  the  finest  sympathies  and  the  noblest  aspirations. 

It  remains  only  to  say,  in  regard  to  the  present  work, 
that  the  person  whose  name  is  on  the  title-page  is  rather 
the  editor  than  the  translator.  Several  of  the  tales  to  be 
embraced  in  the  series  have  been  kindly  furnished  him  by 
friends,  whose  names  or  initials  will  be  attached  to  their 
respective  translations ;  ana  in  the  case  of  one  or  two  others, 
which  he  has  found  in  magazines  or  newspapers  already 
very  well  rendered,  he  has  satisfied  himself  with  merely 
comparing  them  faithfully  with  the  originals,  and  correcting 
or  re-writing  such  parts  as  seemed  to  require  it.  Should 
the  public  demand  warrant  the  expense,  several  parts  of 
the  size  of  this  will  be  published,  so  as  to  comprise  a  com- 
plete collection  of  the  best  tales  of  the  author ;  otherwise, 
the  series  will  only  be  extended  to  two  parts.  And  as  the 
tales  embrace  Historical,  Satirical,  Mystic,  Humorous  and 
Moral  subjects,  the  editor  will  give  as  great  a  variety  as 
possible  in  each  number.  P.  G. 


THE  FOOL  OF  THE  XIX.  CENTURY, 


FOOL  OF  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY. 


PRELIMINARY. 

On  my  last  journey  through  the  north  of  Germany,  I  did  not 
regret  going  a  little  out  of  the  way,  to  see  once  more  one  who 
had  been  a  favorite  in  the  golden  time  of  my  life.  It  must  be 
understood,  however,  that  in  the  following  story,  the  names  of 
countries,  places,  and  persons,  are  concealed  or  disguised.  Yet 
the  history,  as  improbable  as  it  may  appear  to  some,  is  none  the 
less  true  on  that  account. 

This  favorite  was  the  Baron  Olivier,  of  Flyeln,  with  whom 
I  had  pursued  the  sciences  at  the  High  School  of  Gottingen.  He 
was  then  an  excellent  youth,  and  at  the  same  time  one  of  the 
most  intellectual.  A  love  of  Greek  and  Roman  literature  had 
brought  and  bound  us  together  ;  I  called  him  my  Achilles,  and  he 
called  me  his  Patroclus.  In  fact,  he  was  a  model  that  might 
have  served  any  artist  for  an  Achilles.  In  form  and  bearing  like 
a  young  demigod,  pride  and  goodness  shone  in  the  dark  fire  ot 
his  glance ;  supple  and  active  as  any  one ;  the  boldest  swimmer, 
the  swiftest-footed  runner,  the  wildest  rider,  the  most  graceful 
dancer,  he  had  withal,  the  most  generous  and  fearless  heart 
His  very  nobleness  involved  him  in  many  an  unpleasant  affair, 
as  he  always  took  the  part  of  the  oppressed.  He  had  therefore 
many  occasions  to  fight  with  others ;  did  not  avoid  even  the  best 
swordsman ;  went  into  the  contest  as  to  a  pastime  ;  was  never 
himself  wounded,  as  if  he  bore  a  charmed  life,  yet  seldom  suf- 
fered any  one  to  escape  him  unmarked. 

Since  our  separation,  we  had  several  times  written  to  each 
other,  but  as  it  often  happens,  when  one  begins  to  be  tossed  by  the 
2 


2 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


waves  of  life,  though  we  did  not  wholly  forget  each  other,  we 
at  last  dropped  the  correspondence.  I  knew  nothing  of  him, 
finally,  except  that  he  had  become  a  Captain  in  a  regiment  of 
infantry.  He  must  have  been  already  about  five  and-thirty 
years  old,  and  in  the  first  rank.  In  the  course  of  my  journey, 
I  had  learned,  quite  accidentally,  the  station  of  his  regiment,  and 
this  reconciled  me  to  the  roundabout  way. 

The  post-boy  drove  me  into  the  streets  of  an  old,  straggling, 
rich  commercial  city,  and  stopped  before  one  of  the  most  respect- 
able hotels.  As  soon  as  I  had  learned  which  was  my  chamber 
from  the  waiter,  I  asked  him,  whether  the  Baron  of  Flyeln  was 
with  the  regiment  now  in  garrison  of  the  place  ? 

"Do  you  mean  the  major?"  asked  the  waiter. 

"  Major  he  may  be  !  Is  his  residence  far  from  this  ?  Can  he 
be  spoken  with  at  this  time  ?  It  is  late,  I  know — but  I  wish 
some  one  to  conduct  me  to  him." 

"  Pardon  me,  but  the  Baron  is  not  with  his  regiment — he  has 
not  been  for  a  long  time.  He  took  leave — or  rather  he  was 
obliged  to  take  it." 

"Obliged  ?  Wherefore?" 

"  He  has  played  all  sorts  of  pranks  and  wonderful  capers — I 
know  scarcely  what !  He  is  at  least  not  right  in  the  head  :  he  is 
cracked — cracked — crazed.  They  say,  he  has  studied  himself 
out  of  his  wits." 

This  news  frightened  me  so  at  first,  that  I  completely  lost  pos- 
session of  myself. 

"And  what  then?"  stammered  I,  finally,  in  order  to  learn 
something  more  definite  about  him. 

"Pardon  me,"  said  the  obsequious  waiter,  "  but  what  I  know, 
is  only  from  hearsay,  for  he  was  sent  away  before  I  came  to  this 
house  :  still  they  tell  many  things  about  him.  By  way  of  a  joke, 
he  got  up  many  duels  with  the  officers,  and  called  each  one  thou, 
even  the  General — each  one,  let  him  be  who  he  might  !  When 
he  came  into  possession  of  a  rich  inheritance  from  his  uncle,  he 
imagined  himself  as  poor  as  a  beggar,  could  not  pay  his  debts, 
and  sold  everything  he  had  on  and  about  him.  He  even  vented 
blasphemous  speeches  in  his  phrenzy.  But  the  funniest  part  of 
it  is,  that  he  married  himself  to  an  ordinary  woman,  a  gypsy,  in 


FOOL  OF  THE  XIX.  CENTURY. 


3 


spite  of  his  family.  His  very  dress  became,  in  the  end,  so  queer 
and  fantastic,  that  the  boys  in  the  streets  ran  after  him.  In 
the  city,  they  grieved  very  much,  on  account  of  his  vagaries,  for 
he  was  generally  liked  before  that,  and  must  have  been,  while 
he  had  his  right  mind,  an  excellent  man." 
"  And  where  is  he  now  ?" 

"  I  cannot  say.  He  has  quitted  the  town — we  hear  and  see 
nothing  of  him.  His  family  have  probably  got  him  a  place 
somewhere  that  he  may  be  cured." 

The  waiter  could  give  no  further  information.  I  had  already 
heard  too  much.  I  threw  myself  shuddering  into  a  seat.  I 
recalled  to  mind  the  heroic  form  of  the  intellectual  youth,  of 
whose  future  I  had  indulged  such  fond  anticipations ;  who,  by 
means  of  his  rank  as  well  as  through  his  large  family  con- 
nexions, might  have  so  easily  attained  the  first  place  in  the  army 
or  the  state  ;  who,  by  his  knowledge  and  rare  endowments, 
seemed  to  have  been  called  to  all  that  is  great — and  who  was 
now  one  of  those  unfortunates,  before  whom  men  shrink  back  in 
dread  !  Oh  !  that  the  Angel  of  Life  had  rather  withdrawn  him 
from  the  world,  than  left  him  a  miserable  caricature  and  mourn- 
ful spectacle  to  his  friends. 

As  anxious  as  I  had  been  to  see  the  good  Olivier,  it  was  no 
longer  pleasant  to  me  to  inquire  about  him  in  the  city.  Alas,  he 
was  no  more  Olivier — no  more  the  manly  Achilles,  but  a  pitiable 
unknown  Torso.  I  would  not  have  wished  to  see  him,  even  if  it 
had  been  easy  for  me  to  find  him.  I  must  then  have  exchanged 
the  memory  of  my  Gottingen  Achilles  for  the  image  of  a  madman, 
which  would  have  robbed  me  of  one  of  my  loveliest  and  most 
pleasing  recollections.  I  did  not  wish  to  see  him,  for  the  same 
reason  that  I  avoid  looking  at  a  friend  in  his  coffin,  that  I  may 
retain  in  my  thoughts  the  image  of  the  living  only  ;  or,  as  I  for- 
bear to  enter  rooms  which  I  formerly  occupied,  but  which  are 
now  in  the  possession  of  another,  and  arranged  in  a  different 
style.  The  Past  and  the  Present  then  become  blended  in  my 
imagination  in  a  very  painful  confusion. 

I  was  yet  lost  in  various  speculations  on  the  nature  of  human 
existence,  and  how  the  same  spirit,  which  spans  the  spaces  of  the 
Universe  and  aspires  to  the  Highest,  becomes  through  the  de- 


4 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


pression  and  injury  of  the  nervous  system,  like  a  jarring  ana 
discordant  instrument, — to  itself  and  to  the  rest  of  the  world  an 
unintelligible  enigma — when  the  waiter  entered  and  called  me 
to  supper. 

The  table  of  the  brilliant  dining-room  was  crowded  with  guests. 
It  happened  that  a  place  was  assigned  me  in  the  neighborhood  of 
some  officers  of  the  occupying  army.  I  naturally,  as  soon  as 
the  ice  was  broken  between  us,  turned  the  conversation  to  my 
friend  Olivier.  I  gave  the  minutest  description  of  him,  that 
there  might  be  no  mistake  as  to  his  person  ;  for  it  was  probable, 
as  I  believed  then,  that  the  mad  Baron  of  Flyeln  might  be  some 
other  than  my  Achilles  of  Gottingen.  But  all  that  I  asked,  and 
all  that  I  heard,  convinced  me  too  surely  that  there  was  no  room 
for  mistake. 

"  It  is,  indeed,  a  sad  affair,  that  of  the  Baron,"  sighed  one  of 
the  officers.  "  Everybody  liked  him  ;  he  was  one  of  the  bravest 
of  the  regiment, — in  fact,  a  dare-devil.  We  saw  that,  during  the 
last  campaign  in  France.  What  none  of  us  dared  to  do,  he  did 
as  if  in  sport.  He  excelled  in  everything.  Just  think  of  the 
affair  at  the  battery  of  Belle-Alliance  !  We  had  lost  it ; — the 
General  tore  the  very  hair  from  his  head.  Flyeln  cried  out, 
1  We  must  take  it  again,  or  all  is  gone  !'  We  had  then  made 
three  sallies  in  vain.  Flyeln  went  out  with  his  company  once 
more,  cut  his  way  through  a  whole  battalion  of  guards,  and,  at 
last  pressing  on  with  the  most  horrible  butchery,  stormed  the 
battery." 

"  But  it  cost  half  the  company,"  interrupted  an  old  captain 
near  me  ;  "I  was  an  eye-witness.  He  came  out,  however,  as 
usual,  without  a  scratch.  The  most  monstrous  luck  always 
attended  the  man.  The  common  soldiers  cannot  even  now  be 
persuaded  that  the  Baron  is  not  sword,  spear,  and  bullet-proof." 

I  heard  with  real  transport  the  eulogies  passed  upon  the 
good  Olivier.  I  knew  him  again  with  all  his  virtues.  They 
particularly  praised  his  beneficence.  He  was  the  founder  and 
improver  of  a  school  for  soldiers'  children,  and  had  gone  to  great 
expense  on  account  of  it.  He  had  done  much  good  in  secret ; 
always  led  a  simple  and  retired  life ;  never  gave  way  to  the  ex- 
travagance or  dissoluteness  to  which  youth,  beauty,  vigor  and 


FOOL  OF  THE  XIX.  CENTURY. 


5 


health  invited  him.  Yes,  the  officers  assured  me,  he  had  had  a 
signal  influence  in  ennobling  the  tone  of  the  corps, — in  improving 
their  manners  as  well  as  in  enlarging  their  knowledge.  He 
had  even  read  lectures  upon  various  subjects,  useful  to  the  war- 
riors, until  he  was  silenced." 

"  And  why  silenced  V  asked  I  with  some  astonishment. 

"  Why,  even  in  these  lectures,"  answered  one  of  my  neigh- 
bors, "  he  discovered  some  symptoms  of  his  mental  disorder. 
No  Jacobin  in  the  French  National  Convention  ever  raved  so 
vehemently  against  our  monarchical  arrangements,  and  against 
the  various  European  Courts  and  their  politics,  as  he  did  at 
times.  He  said,  openly  that  the  people  would  sooner  or  later 
help  themselves — themselves  and  the  king — against  ministerial 
domination,  priestcraft,  and  pecuniary  exactions.  He  thought 
that  the  revolution  would  spread  inevitably  from  nation  to 
nation,  and  that  in  less  than  half  a  century,  the  whole  political 
aspect  of  Europe  would  be  changed.  But  enough  :  the  lectures 
were  forbidden,  and  very  properly  and  justly.  Even  so  madly 
did  he  declaim  at  times,  that  he  assailed  the  nobility  and  their 
prerogatives.  If  any  one  reminded  him,  that  he  himself  was  a 
baron,  he  would  answer,  '  You  are  silly  to  say  so  ;  I  am  a  plain 
man  of  sense,  and  have  been  from  the  cradle  no  better  than 
our  sutler  there  !'  " 

"  But  that  was  only  a  preliminary  symptom  of  his  derange- 
ment," interposed  a  young  lieutenant.  "  The  most  decided  act 
of  craziness  was,  when,  falling  in  with  Lieut.  Col.  Baron  Von 
Berkin,  he  saluted  him  with  a  box  on  the  ears,  and  then  threw 
him  down  stairs ;  afterwards,  however,  he  did  not  dare  to  fight 
with  him,  by  which  means  he  offended  the  whole  officer- 
crops." 

"  Yet  he  was  always  a  good  fighter  ;  one  who  had  little  fear 
for  the  naked  sword,"  said  I. 

"  Until  then,  we  had  supposed  him  such  ;  but  as  I  said  before, 
his  whole  nature  changed.  When  he  went  out  to  the  place 
where  they  ought  to  have  fought,  he  appeared  without  a  sword, 
and  with  only  a  whip  in  his  hand,  and  said  to  the  Lieutenant. 
Colonel,  in  the  presence  of  all  of  us,  '  You  silly  fool,  you,  if  1 
should  really  tear  you  open  with  my  sword,  what  good  would  it 


6 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


do  you  V  And  as  the  Colonel,  no  longer  able  to  contain  his 
wrath,  drew  his  sword,  the  Major  calmly  bared  his  breast,  held 
it  up  to  him,  and  said,  1  Are  you  anxious  to  become  an  assas- 
sin ? — strike  then !'  We  here  interrupted  the  conversation,  and 
desired  him  to  fight  the  Lieutenant-Colonel  as  duty  and  honor 
commanded.  Then  he  called  us  all  fools  together,  whose  max- 
ims of  honor,  he  said,  belonged  appropriately  to  the  Mad-house 
or  to  the  House  of  Correction.  This  confirmed  our  opinion  that 
he  was  not  altogether  right  in  his  upper  story.  One  of  us 
insulted  him,  but  he  took  no  notice  of  it,  and  only  laughed.  We 
repaired  to  the  General,  and  frankly  related  to  him  the  whole 
proceeding.  The  General  was  grieved,  and  the  more  so,  be- 
cause that  very  day  he  had  received  an  Order  for  the  Major 
from  the  Court.  He  enjoined  us  to  say  nothing — he  would  set- 
tle all — the  Major  must  give  satisfaction.  The  next  morning  at 
parade,  the  General,  according  to  command,  handed  over  the 
Order  with  a  suitable  speech  to  the  Major.  He  did  not  take  it, 
but  answered  in  respectful  words,  that  "  he  had  fought  against 
Napoleon  for  the  sake  of  his  country,  and  not  for  a  little  bit  of 
ribbon.  If  he  deserved  any  praise  he  did  not  wish  to  wear  it  on 
his  breast,  as  a  show  to  the  eyes  of  everybody."  The  General 
was  almost  startled  out  of  his  senses.  But  no  prayers  nor 
menaces  could  move  the  Major  to  take  the  royal  distinction. 
Next,  the  officers  stepped  forth  and  declared  that  they  could  no 
longer  serve  with  him  unless  he  rendered  some  satisfaction.  The 
affair  came  to  trial ;  the  Major  was  imprisoned ;  and  was  only 
released  by  the  Court.  Then  his  malady  broke  out  in  its  ful- 
ness. He  suffered  his  beard  to  grow  long  like  a  Jew's — wore 
ludicrous  dresses — married,  to  spite  his  relations,  a  quite  ordi- 
nary, yet  pretty  girl — a  foundling,  for  whom  he  had  already 
had  r.e  affair  with  the  Lieutenant-Colonel — thought  himself,  for 
a  long  while,  miserably  poor — and  finally,  did  so  many  foolish 
things,  that  he  was  exiled  by  royal  command,  under  strict  guar- 
dianship, to  his  own  estate." 
"  Where  is  he  now  V1  I  asked. 

"  Still  at  his  own  estate,  in  Flyeln,  in  the  castle  of  his  deceased 
uncle — distant,  it  may  be,  ten  hours  from  this.  For  a  long  year 
no  one  went  to  him  without  permission — even  the  management 


THE  VISIT. 


7 


of  his  business  was  taken  away  from  him.  It  is  now  restored 
to  him,  though  he  must  still  render  a  yearly  account.  He  does 
not  venture  to  stir  a  step  beyond  his  domains.  He  has  solemnly 
excommunicated  the  whole  world,  and  does  not  permit  relatives, 
acquaintances,  or  friends,  to  come  near  him.  They  have  now, 
for  a  year  and  more,  heard  nothing  of  him." 


THE  VISIT. 

From  all  the  tales  of  the  officers  it  was  clear,  that  the  unfor- 
tunate Olivier,  after  the  loss  of  his  understanding,  would  always 
remain  a  good-natured  fool  j  and  that  probably  the  wild  spirit 
of  freedom,  which  for  some  years  had  been  the  fashion  in  Ger- 
many, had  seized  him  more  vehemently  than  it  ought,  or  had 
at  least  given  a  color  to  his  phantasies. 

All  this  caused  me  great  apprehension.  I  could  not  get  to  sleep 
for  a  long  while  in  the  night.  When  I  awoke  in  the  morning, 
it  was  already  late  ;  but  I  felt  myself  refreshed  and  strengthened. 
The  world  appeared  to  me  in  a  serener  light  than  on  the  previous 
evening,  and  I  resolved  to  seek  my  much-to-be-pitied  friend  in 
his  place  of  exile. 

After  I  had  casually  surveyed  the  lions  of  the  place,  I  flung 
myself  into  a  waggon,  and  drove  all  night  and  the  following  day, 
towards  Flyeln,  to  a  seaport  in  the  neighborhood.  The  village 
of  Flyeln  lay  yet  ten  miles  distant  from  this  town.  The  post- 
master, when  he  heard  where  I  wanted  to  go,  laughed  and  re- 
minded me  that  I  was  going  on  a  useless  journey.  The  Baron, 
he  said,  did  not  permit  himself  to  be  seen  by  strangers.  I  also 
learned  that  he  had  not  improved  in  the  condition  of  his  mind, 
but  that  the  good  man  had  become  firmly  persuaded  that  the 
whole  world  during  the  last  century  had  turned  crazy,  and  that 
the  remedy  was  to  go  forth  from  Flyeln.  In  this  belief — all  the 
world  holding  him,  and  he  holding  all  the  world,  to  be  senseless 
— he  separated  himself  altogether  from  other  men.  His  peasants 
find  themselves  none  the  less  well  off  on  account  of  it,  for  he  did 
much  for  them.    But  in  return  they  must  obey  his  whims  in  the 


8 


FOOL  OF  THE  XIX  CENTURY. 


smallest  particulars,  wear  trousers  with  long  jackets  and  round 
hats,  suffer  their  beards  to  grow  long,  and  thou  all  people,  espe- 
cially upon  the  grounds  of  Flyeln — even  the  most  important 
personages.  Aside  from  these  crack-brained  notions,  he  was 
one  of  the  most  sensible  men  in  the  world. 

Notwithstanding  the  warning  of  the  post-master,  I  continued 
the  attempt,  and  went  on  towards  Flyeln.  Why  should  it  trou- 
ble me  to  go  ten  miles  for  nothing,  when,  for  the  sake  of  Olivier, 
I  had  already  ventured  so  far  out  of  my  way  ?  Nor  had  I 
reason  to  fear  that  I  should  be  turned  back,  since  he  had  nor 
suffered  in  his  memory.  The  road  was  a  miserable  untravelled 
route,  sometimes  through  deep  sand,  sometimes  through  newly 
dug  brooks  and  miry  ground,  sometimes  through  rough  defiles ; 
and  more  than  once  my  waggon  was  like  to  have  upset.  But,  about 
one  hour's  ride  from  Flyeln,  the  land  began  to  rise.  The  fields 
stood  in  excellent  order  upon  a  wide  plain  ;  on  the  right,  an  oak 
forest  stretched  in  the  distance,  with  its  dark  green  leaves,  like  an 
immense  bower  ;  while  on  the  left,  an  endless  sea,  a  broad  heaving 
mirror,  with  its  shining  clouds,  completed  the  panorama.  The 
village  of  Flyeln  peered  out  of  the  fruit  trees,  willows,  and  pop- 
lars before  me  ;  in  front,  rose  a  large  old  structure,  the  castle, 
encompassed  by  a  wood  of  wild  chestnuts ;  and  behind,  nearer 
the  water,  lay  the  village  of  Lower  Flyeln,  also  attached  to  the 
domain  of  Olivier,  picturesquely  relieved  by  rugged  ranges  of 
rocks,  which  with  woody  cliffs  projected  like  little  peninsulas  far 
into  the  sea.  Fishermen's  boats  with  sails  swarmed  upon  the 
shores,  a  ship  was  riding  upon  the  ridge  of  the  sea,  while  clouds 
of  white  sea  gulls  fluttered  upon  the  air. 

The  nearer  I  came  to  the  village  and  castle,  the  more  pictu- 
resque and  cheerful  grew  the  scenery.  It  possessed  the  peculiar 
charms  of  a  country  bordering  the  sea — those  which  spring  from 
the  mingling  of  the  beauties  of  landscape  with  the  majesty  of 
the  ocean,  retired  and  peaceful  cottages  contrasting  with  the 
stormy  elements.  At  any  rate,  the  place  of  exile  selected  by  my 
friend  had  attractions  enough  to  have  induced  any  one  to  prefer 
it  to  the  liberty  of  living  in  bustling  cities. 

In  the  fields,  as  well  as  in  the  gardens,  I  soon  discovered  the 
famous  Flyeln  beards.    Even  the  hotel-keeper  before  whose  inn 


THE  VISIT 


9 


I  reined  up  and  alighted  was  profusely  covered  with  hair  about 
his  chia  and  mouth.  He  returned  my  greeting  in  a  friendly  man- 
ner, but  seemed  to  be  rather  astonished  at  my  arrival.  "  Dost 
thou  seek  the  proprietor  ?"  he  asked  me  courteously.  I  permit- 
ted the  somewhat  unusual  thou  to  pass  with  a  smile,  answering 
simply  yes.  "  Then,  I  must  inquire  concerning  thy  name,  rank, 
and  dwelling-place.  These  must  be  announced  to  Mr.  Olivier. 
He  does  not  willingly  receive  travellers." 

"  But  he  will  certainly  receive  me  !  Let  him  be  told  that  one 
of  his  eldest  and  best  friends,  in  passing  by,  wishes  to  speak 
with  him  for  a  little  while.    Let  nothing  further  be  said  to  him." 

"  As  thou  will'st,"  replied  the  host ;  "  but  I  can  anticipate  the 
answer." 

While  the  hotel-keeper  was  looking  for  a  messenger,  I  went 
slowly  through  the  village,  direct  towards  the  castle,  to  which  a 
foot-path  that  ran  between  the  houses  and  a  fruit  garden  seemed 
to  invite  me.  But  it  led  me  astray  to  a  building  which  I  took  for 
a  wash-house.  On  one  side  beyond  a  meadow  flowed  a  pretty 
broad  brook  over  which  the  high  and  dark  wild  chestnuts  of  the 
ancient  homestead  of  the  Baron  flung  their  shadows.  I  deter- 
mined upon  the  hazard  of  introducing  myself  to  Olivier  unan- 
nounced. I  had  purposely  concealed  my  name  from  the  hotel- 
keeper,  in  order  to  see  whether  Olivier  would  recognize  me  when 
he  should  meet  me.  I  crossed  over  the  meadow — and  found  after 
long  seeking  a  bridge  over  the  brook,  and  a  path  that  led  through 
the  underbrush  towards  the  wild  chestnuts.  These  overshadow- 
ed a  spacious  round  plot  near  the  castle,  ornamented  with  green 
turf.  On  both  sides  rustic  chairs  were  placed  under  the  broad 
branches  of  the  trees,  and  upon  one  of  the  benches  sat — I 
was  not  overcome — Olivier.  He  was  reading  a  book.  At  his 
feet  a  child  about  three  years  old  played  in  the  grass.  Near 
him  sat  a  beautiful  young  woman  with  an  infant  at  her  breast. 
The  group  was  not  a  common  one.  I  stood  still,  half  hidden  by 
the  shrubs.  None  of  them  looked  towards  me.  My  eyes  hung 
only  on  the  good  Olivier.  Even  the  black  beard  which  twined 
about  his  chin,  and  by  means  of  the  whiskers,  connected  with 
the  dark  locks  of  his  head,  became  him — and  iis  to  his  drosf, 
though  it  was  peculiar,  it  was  not  odd.    On  his  head,  he  carried 


10 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


a  neat  cap,  with  the  shade  turned  against  the  sun ;  his  breast 
was  bare  or  covered  only  with  wide  overlapping  shirt  collars  ; 
a  green  jacket  buttoned  tight  in  front,  with  lappets  reaching 
down  to  his  kness,  loose  sailor  trousers,  and  half-boots  completed 
his  attire.  He  was  dressed  much  in  the  same  way  as  the  pea- 
sants, only  more  tastefully  and  with  finer  stuffs.  His  mien  was 
quiet  and  thoughtful,  and  he  looked  like  a  man  just  entering  his 
fortieth  year.  His  beard  gave  him  an  heroic  aspect  and  bear- 
ing. He  stood  before  me  as  I  would  imagine  one  of  the  noble 
forms  of  the  middle  ages. 

In  the  meantime,  the  messenger  of  the  tavern-keeper  came 
from  the  castle  to  the  circle  of  trees.  The  young  fellow  took  off 
his  beaver  and  said,  "  Sir,  there  is  a  stranger  on  his  journey  here, 
who  wishes  to  speak  with  thee.  He  says  that  he  is  one  of  thy 
oldest  and  best  friends." 

Olivier  looked  up  and  inquired,  "  Journey  ?    Is  he  on  foot  ?" 

"  No,  he  came  with  the  post !" 

"  What  is  his  name  ?    Who  is  he  ?" 

"  That  he  won't  tell." 

"  He  must  let  me  alone.  I  will  not  see  him,"  cried  Olivier, 
and  made  a  sign  with  his  hand  to  the  youth  that  he  should  de- 
part. 

"  But  you  must  see  me  Olivier,"  cried  I,  stepping  forth,  but  first 
bowing  courteously  to  the  young  woman.  He,  without  moving, 
even  without  returning  my  salutation,  stretched  his  neck  towards 
me,  surveyed  me  for  some  time  with  a  sharp  glance,  looked 
grave,  threw  his  book  down,  then  approached  me,  saying,  "  With 
whom  am  I  speaking  ?" 

"  What,  Achilles  no  longer  knows  his  Patroclus  !"  replied  I. 

"  'G  to  to  i !"  he  exclaimed,  greatly  amazed,  while  he  spread 
out  his  arms,  "  welcome,  noble  Patroclus,  though  in  a  French 
frock  and  with  powdered  hair."  Then  he  fell  upon  my  Dosom. 
In  spite  of  his  sarcastic  speech  both  he  and  I  were  moved,  and 
gave  way  to  tears.  An  interval  of  twenty  years  melted  away 
in  the  embrace.  We  breathed  again  as  we  had  upon  the  shores 
of  the  Leine  or  at  Bovenden,  or  amid  the  ruins  of  the  old  castle 
of  Gleichen. 

Thereupon,  with  eyes  sparkling  with  joy,  he  led  me  to  the 


FOOL  OF  THE  XIX.  CENTURY. 


11 


charming  young  mother  who  modestly  reddened  as  he  said  to 
her,  "  See,  this  is  Norbert, — thou  knowest  him  already  from 
many  of  my  stories  !"  and  to  me,  "  That  is  my  dearest  wife." 

She  smiled  with  the  veritable  smile  of  an  angel,  and  said  with 
an  air  and  voice  more  kind  even  than  her  words,  "  Thou  noble 
friend  of  Olivier,  thrice  welcome !  I  have  long  since  desired 
the  pleasure  of  thy  personal  acquaintance." 

I  would  have  said  something  complimentary  in  return  for  this 
fine  speech,  but  I  confess  that  the  familiar  Thou  which  greeted 
me,  unaccustomed  to  hear  it  spoken  from  such  lovely  lips,  and  in 
so  unrestrained  a  manner,  quite  deprived  me  of  self-possession.* 

"  My  gracious  lady,"  I  stammered  finally,  "  I  have — by  a 
roundabout  way  of  more  than  forty  miles — purchased  cheaply — 
the  happiness — you  and  your  husband — my  oldest  friend  " 

"  Hallo,  Norbert,"  interrupted  Olivier  laughing,  "  only  one 
word  in  the  beginning,  a  request, — call  my  wife  as  thou  callest 
thy  God,  simply  Thou.  Do  not  disturb  the  plain  customs  of 
Flyeln  with  the  fooleries  of  a  German  master  of  ceremonies  and 
dealer  in  compliments  :  it  makes  a  disagreeable  discord  in  our 
ears.  Imagine  to  thyself,  that  thou  art  two  hundred  years,  or  two 
hundred  miles,  away  from  Germany  and  Europe,  and  living 
again  in  a  natural  world, — somewhere,  if  you  please,  in  the 
good  old  times  of  the  Odyssey.." 

"  Well,  Olivier,  you  have  managed  to  be  Thou  and  Thou 
with  so  worthy  a  woman  that  no  one  need  be  requested  twice 
on  that  score  ;  and  as  to  thee,  Baroness,  then  " 

"  Once  more  hold  !"  cried  Olivier,  laughing  loudly  between 
each  word,  "  thy  Baroness  agrees  with  Thou,  about  as  well  as 
thy  French  frock  and  shorn  beard  agrees  with  the  name  of  Pa- 
troclus.  My  peasants  are  no  more  bond-servants  but  freemen ; 
I  and  my  wife  are  no  more  nor  less  barons  than  they  are.  Call 
my  Amelia,  as  everybody  names  her  here,  Mother — the  noblest 
title  of  a  wife — or  at  most  Madam." 

"It  appears,"  I  interposed,  "you  good  people  have  here  in 
the  midst  of  a  kingdom,  founded  a  new  republic  and  abolished  all 
nobility." 

*  The  Germans  only  use  thou  to  persons  with  whom  they  are  on  intimate 
terms. 


19 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


"  Right — all  but  the  nobility  of  sentiment."  answered  Olivier 
"  and  in  that  respect  thou  findest  us  in  this  land  more  extensive 
ly  aristocratic  than  in  thine  own  Germany.  For  with  you  nobili- 
ty of  mind  is  of  little  worth,  and  nobility  of  birth  is  falling  into 
the  mire  where  it  properly  belongs." 

"  Pardon  me,  but  thou  art  somewhat  Jacobinically  inclined," 
responded  I ;  "  who  told  thee  that  nobility  of  birth  was  sinking 
in  public  opinion  among  us  ?" 

"  'ft  ttowoi  P?  he  exclaimed,  "  must  I  teach  thee,  then  1  I 
knew,  some  years  ago,  a  poor  ragged  Jew,  that  you  pious 
Christians  would  rather  have  had  not  born  than  born.  He 
chaffered  so  much  money  together,  however,  that  he  soon  took 
his  letters  from  the  post-office  under  the  address  of  a  nobleman. 
After  some  years  he  was  a  rich  man,  and  the  courtly  Germans 
readily  conceived  that  the  fellow  must  have  sprung  from  some 
high  birth.  All  addressed  him  from  that  time  forth  as  a  no- 
bly-descended  Banker.  But  the  secret  of  it  was,  that  the  Bank- 
er with  his  ducats,  helped  the  finance  minister  and  the  prosperi- 
ty bringing  war  minister  in  their  straits  for  money.  Forthwith 
then,  the  useful  Banker  was  addressed  and  designated  as  the 
most  nobly  born  Baron.  This  illumination  of  the  Germans — 
this  mockery  of  nobility,  has  spread  in  a  few  years  much  fur- 
ther than  thou  believest.  But  I  hope  as  nobility  of  birth  comes 
to  be  regarded  among  you  as  worthless,  nobility  of  mind  will  be 
much  more  legitimate  and  sufficient." 

The  Baroness,  in  order  to  put  her  infant  to  rest,  and  to  prepare 
a  chamber  for  me,  left  us  with  the  children.  Olivier  led  me 
through  his  garden,  whose  beds  were  filled  with  the  choicest 
flowers.  About  a  fountain,  there  stood  on  high  pedestals  of 
black  stone  white  marble  busts  with  inscriptions.  I  read  there  : 
Socrates,  Cincinnatus,  Columbus,  Luther,  Bartholomew,  Las 
Casas,  Rousseau,  Franklin,  and  Peter  the  Great. 

"  I  see  thou  still  livest  in  good  company,"  said  I.  "  Is  there 
among  the  living  any  more  worthy  than  thy  excellent  wife, 
with  those  two  curly  Amorettas,  or  among  the  dead,  any  more 
honorable  than  these  here  ?" 

"  Didst  thou,  then,  doubt  my  good  taste  V 


FOOL  OP^  THE  XIX.  CENTURY. 


13 


"  No,  indeed,  Olivier  ;  but  I  heard  that  thou  hadst  completely- 
retired  from  the  world." 

"  Only  because  I  love  good  company,  which  is  nowhere  more 
scarce  than  in  your  assemblages  of  people  of  ton  !" 

"  Still,  thou  wilt  grant  it  possible  that  good  company  may  be 
found  out  of  Flyeln  !" 

"  Certainly,  Norbert,  but  I  will  not  waste  time  and  money  in 
going  to  find  it.  Let  us,  however,  break  off  from  this  topic.  Ye 
Europeans  have  so  frightfully  departed  from  the  holy  simplicity 
of  nature,  both  in  great  things  and  small — for  more  than  a 
thousand  years  have  so  much  resembled  sophisticated  brutes, 
that  the  unnatural  has  become  your  nature,  and  ye  no  longer 
comprehend  a  plain  man.  Ye  are  such  corrupters  of  the  human 
race  that  a  healthy  being  must  dread  to  be  among  you.  No 
thou  noble  Norbert,  let  us  quit  this  subject  !  Thou  wouldst  not 
readily  understand  me  if  I  spoke.  I  value  thee — I  love  thee — 
yet  I  pity  thee." 

"  Pity  ?    Why  ?" 

"  Since  thou  livest  among  fools,  and  must  remain  among 
them,  though  against  thy  conscience." 

From  these  words  of  Olivier's,  I  inferred  that  he  had  gone 
over  to  his  fixed  idea.  It  was  uncomfortable  to  me  to  be  with 
him.  I  wished  to  draw  him  to  some  other  subject,  looked  anx- 
iously around,  and  began,  as  I  happened  to  remark  his  beard, 
to  praise  it,  and  especially  since  it  was  so  becoming. 

"  How  long  since  thou  hast  suffered  it  to  grow  ?"  asked  1 

"  Since  I  returned  to  my  senses,  and  had  courage  enough  to 
be  reasonable.  Does  it  really  please  thee,  Norbert  ?  Why  not 
wear  thine  own  so,  too  ?" 

I  drew  my  breath,  and  said,  "If  it  were  the  common  custom, 
I  would  with  pleasure." 

"  That's  it !  While  Folly  is  the  Fashion,  every  vestige 
of  Nature,  even  upon  the  chin,  must  be  rooted  out  with 
brush  and  razor — thou  hast  not  the  courage  to  be  reasonable, 
even  in  a  small  matter.  This  ornament  of  man,  mother  Nature 
has  not  given  in  vain,  any  more  than  she  has  the  hair  on  the 
head.  But  man,  in  his  foolishness,  imagines  himself  wiser  than 
his  Creator,  and  first  smears  his  chin  with  soap,  and  then  slicks  it 


14 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


with  a  knife.  So  long  as  the  nations  have  not  altogether  departed 
from  Nature,  they  stick  to  the  beard.  Notwithstanding  Christ 
and  the  Apostles  wore  it,  Pope  Gregory  VII.  put  it  under  ban. 
And  still  the  clergy  held  to  it  for  a  long  while,  as  do  the  Capucins 
at  this  day ;  but  when  some  old  fops  began  to  be  ashamed  of 
their  grey  hair,  they  began  to  destroy  that  on  their  chins,  and  to 
confine  that  on  their  heads  in  a  peruke.  When  people  became  ac- 
customed to  belie  themselves  in  all  things  else,  they  sought  to  belie 
their  age.  Old  men  frisked  about  with  blond  hair  and  smooth 
chins,  like  young  girls,  and  that,  also,  made  them  effeminate  in 
disposition  ;  and  other  men  followed  the  example,  not  having  the 
courage  to  abide  by  the  truth.  Compare  the  heroic  form  of  an 
Achilles,  Alexander,  or  Julius  Caesar,  with  one  of  our  modern 
Field-Marshals  or  Lieutenants,  in  their  untasteful  uniforms;  one 
of  our  exquisites,  with  his  neck-cloth  and  walking  stick,  to  an 
Antinous  ;  thyself,  O  Councilman  Norbert,  with  a  Senator  of 
old  Greece  or  Rome  !  Must  we  not  laugh,  to  split  our  sides, 
over  the  caricatures  that  we  are  ?" 

"  Thou  art  right,  Olivier  !"  said  I,  interposing,  "  who  will 
deny  that  the  old  Roman  or  Greek  dress  is  more  graceful  than 
ours  ?  But  to  us  in  the  North — we  Europeans — a  close  dress  is 
proper  and  needful ;  we  should  feel  somewhat  uncomfortable  in 
the  beautiful  flowing  robes  of  an  Oriental  or  a  Southron." 

"  Look  at  me,  Norbert,"  said  Olivier,  laughing,  as  he  placed 
himself  before  me,  drew  his  cap  on  one  side  of  his  head,  stuck 
his  left  arm  jauntily  on  his  hip,  and  continued,  "  I,  a  North- 
lander,  in  my  close,  convenient,  and  simple  dress,  do  I  compare 
disadvantageously  with  an  old  Roman  citizen  ?  Why  does  the 
Spanish,  Italian,  and  German  costume,  of  the  Middle  Ages,  still 
please  us?  Because  it  was  beautiful.  An  Austrian  knight,  in 
his  helmet,  nay,  a  hussar,  would  even  now  catch  the  eye  of  a 
Julius  Caesar.  Why,  oh  ye  stiff  gentlemen,  do  ye  not  follow 
better  models,  as  our  women  have  already  begun  to  do,  since 
they  have  cast  aside  trains  and  powdered  toupees  ?  Should 
ye  come  to  be  once  ashamed  of  being  caricatures  externally, 
perhaps  ye  would  get  nearer  to  Nature  internally.  There  is 
some  truth  in  the  proverb  that  '  dress  makes  the  man.'  And  I  tell 
thee,  Norbert,  my  Amelia  has  found  me  handsomer,  since  1  have 


FOOL  OF  THE  XIX  CENTURY. 


15 


only  cropped  my  beard  with  the  shears,  and  not  destroyed  it ; 
yes,  I  believe  since  that  time,  her  affections  have  grown  more 
ardent,  for  her  cheeks  lean  no  more  on  a  soft  woman  face,  but 
upon  a  man's.    Women  ever  like  a  manly  man." 

As  Olivier  spoke,  he  became  quite  excited.  In  fact,  he  stood 
before  me  as  a  hero  of  the  earlier  times,  as  if  an  old  portrait 
had  stepped  out  from  its  frame  alive,  as  a  being  of  that  elder 
world,  which  we  admire,  but  cannot  restore. 

"Really,  thou  almost  convertest  me  to  an  honest  beard,"  said 
I  to  him,  "and  I  should  profit  by  it,  if  thou  didst,  since  three 
times  every  week  I  should  escape  the  torture  of  the  barber." 

"Friend,"  exclaimed  Olivier,  laughing,  "  it  would  not  stop 
with  that.  The  beard  draws  many  things  after  it.  Only  fancy 
thy  figure,  with  its  crisp  beard,  and  the  three-cornered  peaked 
hat  on  thy  head,  like  a  Jew — thy  powdered  pate,  with  a  rat's-tail 
in  the  neck — and  thy  French  frock,  with  skirts  that  stick  out 
behind,  like  a  swallow's  tail !  Away  with  the  nonsense  !  Clothe 
thyself  modestly,  becomingly,  warmly,  comfortably,  in  good 
taste,  so  as  to  please  the  eye,  but  not  to  distort  the  sublime  form 
of  man.  Banish  all  superfluity.  For  what  is  superfluous  is 
unreasonable,  and  what  is  unreasonable  is  against  nature." 

As  we  continued  our  dispute  on  this  point,  the  Baroness 
sent  a  servant  to  call  us  to  dinner.  I  followed  Olivier  silently, 
with  my  head  full  of  thoughts  which  I  did  not  dare  to  utter.  In 
the  whole  course  of  my  life,  it  had  never  happened  to  me  to  hear  so 
philosophical  a  fool.  I  was  hardly  prepared  to  make  a  reply  to 
his  remarks  on  European  habiliments ;  for  what  he  said  seemed 
to  be  right.  The  old  saying  is  not  without  meaning,  that 
"  Fools  and  children  often  speak  truth." 


THE  FEAST. 

In  consequence  of  Olivier's  liking  for  the  old  Romans  and  the 
Homeric  Greeks  I  was  troubled,  on  my  return  to  the  castle,  as 
to  his  dinner.  For  to  infer  from  his  cap,  beard,  and  appearance, 
in  other  respects,  I  could  hardly  do  otherwise  than  expect  a 
deportment  at  table  which  would  be  highly  uncomfortable  to  me — 


10 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


that  I  should  at  least  be  obliged  to  take  my  soup  either  stretched 
out  in  the  Roman  fashion  upon  couches,  or  tailor-wise,  and  in 
good  Oriental  fashion,  with  my  legs  crossed  under  each  other. 

The  amiable  Baroness  met  us  and  conducted  us  into  the  dining- 
room.  My  anxiety  was  removed  as  soon  as  I  caught  sight  of 
European  tables  and  chairs.  The  guests  soon  arrived  ;  they 
were  the  maid,  the  servant,  and  the  secretary  of  the  Baron.  An 
active  young  chambermaid  remained  without  a  seat,  and  waited 
as  a  Hebe,  at  the  feasts  of  the  Patriarchs.  The  Baron,  before 
we  sat  down,  briefly  said  grace.  Then  began  the  work  of 
mastication.  The  food  was  excellently  prepared,  but  in  a  simple 
style.  I  remarked  that,  except  the  wine,  all  the  dainties  were 
products  of  their  own  soil  or  of  the  neighboring  sea  ;  and  all  the 
foreign  spices  were  wanting,  even  pepper,  in  the  place  of  which 
there  were  salt,  cummin  and  fennel. 

The  conversation  was  quiet,  but  sociable,  and  related  chiefly 
to  rural  affairs,  and  the  events  of  the  immediate  neighborhood. 
The  people  behaved  themselves,  in  the  presence  of  their  master, 
neither  bashfully  nor  immodestly,  but  with  great  circumspection. 
I  felt  myself  among  these  good-looking  and  bearded  men,  with 
their  brotherly  and  respectful  thou,  I  must  say  it,  somewhat  odd 
and  ludicrous,  and  I  sat  there,  with  my  powdered  head,  stiff 
pig-tail,  French  frock  and  smooth  chin— there,  in  the  midst  of 
Europe — as  if  in  a  strange  world.  It  pleased  me,  that  as  dif- 
ferent as  I  was  from  them,  and  as  often  as  between  the  thous, 
especially  when  speaking  with  the  Baroness,  I  slipped  in  a  You, 
no  one  burst  into  a  laugh. 

After  a  half  hour  the  servants  left  us,  and  we  then  protracted 
the  feast,  and  under  the  influence  of  the  old  golden  Rhine  wine, 
grew  unreserved  in  conversation. 

"  I  perceive,"  said  the  Baroness  gaily,  while  she  placed  before 
me  a  choice  bit  of  pastry,  "  that  in  Flyeln,  thou  missest  the 
Hamburg  or  Berlin  cooking." 

"  And  I  perceive,  my  amiable  friend,  that  an  eulogium — so 
much  deserved — of  Flyeln  cooking,  is  due  from  me,  which  I 
can  give,  to  the  disadvantage  of  Berlin  and  Hamburg  kitchens, 
without  being  obliged  to  indulge  any  flattery.  No,  I  have 
earned  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  how  luxurious  a  feast  can 


FOOL  OF  THE  XIX.  CENTURY. 


17 


be  dished  up  from  our  own  domestic  products,  and  how  easily  we 
may  dispense  with  the  Moluccas." 

"Add  to  that,  friend  Norbert,"  said  Olivier,  "  and  with  the 
Moluccas,  the  torture  of  the  brain,  and  those  foreign  vices  which 
spring  from  irritated  or  exhausted  nerves  in  a  sickly  body." 

"  Without  healthy  flesh  and  blood, 
Neither  mind  nor  heart  are  good." 

"  The  most  of  Europeans  are  at  this  day  self-murderers — 
murderers  of  soul  and  of  body — by  means  of  cookery.  What 
your  Rousseaus  and  Pestalozzis  correct,  ye  destroy  again  with 
coffee,  tea,  pepper,  nutmegs,  and  cinnamon.  Live  simply,  live 
naturally,  and  two-thirds  of  your  preachments,  books  of  morals, 
houses  of  correction,  and  apothecaries,  might  be  spared." 

"  I  grant  it,"  said  I,  "  but  that  was  long  since  settled  ;  yet — " 
"Well  then,"  cried  he,  "even  in  that  consists  the  irredeema- 
ble foolishness  of  the  Europeans.  They  know  the  better  way 
and  avoid  it ;  they  abominate  the  worse  and  pursue  it.  They 
poison  their  meats  and  drinks  with  expensive  poisons,  and  keep 
doctors  and  apothecaries  to  restore  them  to  health,  in  order  to 
renew  the  poisoning.  They  foster  a  premature  ripeness  in 
their  young  men  and  maidens,  and  afterwards  mourn  inconsola- 
bly  over  their  ungovernable  impulses.  They  incite,  by  means 
of  laws  and  rewards,  to  the  corruption  of  manners,  and  then 
punish  it  with  the  gibbet  and  sword.  Are  they  not  altogether 
like  idiots?" 

"  But,  dear  Olivier,  that  has  been  so  from  the  earliest  times !" 

"  Yes,  Norbert,  from  the  earliest  times — that  is,  as  soon  and 
as  often  as  men  passed  a  single  step  from  Nature  towards  bar- 
barism. But  we  should  be  warned  by  the  sufferings  of  our  an- 
cestors, to  be  not  only  as  wise,  but  more  wise  than  they.  Other- 
wise, of  what  use  is  knowledge  1  Him  I  regard  as  the  wisest 
man,  who,  to  the  innocence  and  purity  of  a  child  of  Nature, 
joins  the  manifold  knowledge  and  endowments  of  the  age.  Dost 
thou  concede  this  ?" 

"  Why  should  I  not  ?" 

"  Well,  thou  dost  grant  this ;  yet  thou  makest  not  even  a  be- 
ginning of  improvement  in  thy  house  and  inward  state." 
3 


18 


ZSCIIOKKE'S  TALES. 


"  That  is  still  possible  under  certain  circumstances.  Mean 
while,  let  me  tell  thee,  Olivier,  that  we,  artificial  men,  as  well 
as  the  more  simple  men  of  Nature,  are  bound  by  the  hard-to-be 
broken  bands  of  custom.  Our  fictitious  being  becomes  itself  a 
kind  of  Nature,  which  cannot  suddenly  be  laid  aside  with  impu- 
nity." 

"  Formerly  I  thought  the  same,  Norbert.  I  have  been  per- 
suaded to  the  contrary  by  experience.  It  costs  only  a  single 
grievous  moment — a  strong  heart ;  the  first  struggle  against  the 
frenzy  of  mankind  will  break  through  all  to  happiness  and  quiet. 
I  hesitated  long  :  I  contended  long  in  vain.  A  mere  accident 
decided  me  ;  yes,  it  decided  my  own  fortune  and  the  fortune 
of  my  chosen  friends." 

"  And  that  accident,  tell  it  me  quickly,"  said  I,  for  I  was 
curious  to  learn  what  had  worked  so  powerfully  upon  the  de- 
termination and  understanding  of  my  friend,  as  to  draw  him 
over  to  such  odd  caprices,  and  such  a  fanciful  life  and  conduct. 

He  arose  and  left  us. 

"  Not  so,  friend  Norbert,"  said  the  Baroness,  while  she  looked 
at  me  silently  for  some  time  ;  and  there  lay  in  the  soft  smile  of 
her  eyes  a  question  that  went  to  my  heart,  "  Thou  feelest  pity 
for  my  husband  ?" 

"  Only  for  the  unfortunate,  and  not  for  the  happy  do  we  feel 
pity,"  answered  I  with  an  evasion. 

"  Doubtless  thou  knowest  that  he  is  abandoned  by  his  rela- 
tives, scorned  by  his  acquaintances,  and  regarded  by  all  the 
world  as  a  crazy  man." 

"  My  sweet  friend,  subtracting  from  his  code  somewhat 
that  appears  a  little  extravagant  to  me,  which  with  more  pru- 
dent circumspection  might  be  avoided,  in  order  not  to  give  of- 
fence— subtracting  this,  I  find  nothing  in  Olivier  which  is  worth 
condemnation  or  disdain.    Indeed  I  know  much  too  little  of  him." 

"  Dear  friend,"  she  continued,  "  and  dost  thou  not  regard 
public  opinion  ?" 

"Not  at  least  so  far  as  it  concerns  Olivier,"  replied  I,  "  for  I 
know  how  public  opinion  of  Jerusalem  once  condemned  the  Inno- 
cent One  to  the  cross  :  that  public  opinion  calls  the  destroyers  of 
the  people  Great ;  that  it  holds  wisdom  as  foolishness ;  and  adorns 


FOOL  OF  THE  XIX.  CENTURY. 


19 


the  high  priests  of  folly  and  wickedness  with  the  surnames  of  Most 
Holy." 

"  I  rejoice,"  said  the  Baroness  with  animation,  "  that  thou 
hast  won  the  love  of  Olivier ;  thou  art  a  noble  man,  worthy  of 
his  friendship.  Believe  me,  Olivier  is  an  angel,  and  yet  they 
thrust  him  out  of  human  society,  as  a  criminal  or  a  bedlamite." 

While  we  were  thus  conversing,  Olivier  returned  to  us.  He 
carried  in  his  hand  a  little  book.  Having  resumed  his  chair, 
he  said,  "  See  here  the  accident,  or  rather  the  heaven-provided 
means  of  my  restoration  from  weakness,  and  of  my  awaking 
from  delirium.  It  is  an  unnoted  book  ;  the  composer  unknown 
and  unnamed  ;  it  says  many  common  and  every-day  things, 
but  now  and  then  you  meet  with  an  unexpected  flash  of  light. 
Even  the  title  page,  '  Dreams  of  a  Philanthropist,'  is  not  the 
most  promising  in  the  world.  I  found  it  one  day  in  the  garri- 
son, on  the  table  of  an  acquaintance,  and  took  it  with  me,  that 
I  might  at  all  events  have  something  to  read  when  I  walked  on  the 
greensward  beyond  the  town-gate.  As  I  lay  once  in  the  broad 
shadow  of  a  maple,  thoughtful  of  the  many  perversities  of  life, 
the  book  opened,  and  there  fell  out  of  it  an  extract  with  this 
superscription  : — '  Fragment  from  the  Voyage  of  Young  Pythias 
to  Thuh.'  " 

"  Let  us  hear,"  said  I,  "  what  the  old  Greek  of  Massilia  can 
relate  of  us  at  the  North.  It  should  be,  I  think,  coeval  with 
Aristotle."    He  read  : 

"  Fragment  from  the  Voyage  of  Young  Pythias  to  Thule.  (From 
the  Greek.) 

"  But  I  tell  you  the  truth,  my  friend,  as  incredible  as  it 

may  appear.  Consider,  that  in  the  rough  country  of  the  North, 
Nature  itself  repels  men  by  its  ungenial  rigor,  and  forces  them 
to  resort  to  many  contrivances  to  render  life  endurable.  These 
we  do  not  need  in  our  country,  where  Nature  is  bountiful  to 
mortals,  so  that  we  live  both  winter  and  summer  in  the  open  air, 
procuring  without  trouble  what  is  useful  to  the  prolonging  and 
pleasure  of  existence.  But  those,  who  for  half  the  year  groan 
under  the  severity  of  winter,  must  consider  how  they  may  cre- 
ate within  their  heated  houses  an  artificial  summer.  And  since 
Nature  repulses,  and  turns  them  upon  themselves,  they  are  more 


20 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


driven  than  we,  to  occupy  their  minds  with  vain  dreams,  beau- 
tiful schemes  which  they  never  prosecute,  and  the  investigation 
of  whatever  is  remarkable.  By  this  means,  they  are  full  of 
knowledge,  and  learned  in  all  things  which  serve  for  instruc- 
tion or  happiness ;  and  they  write  great  books  about  matters 
that  we  do  not  care  for,  and  the  names  of  which  are  hardly 
known  to  us.  Indeed,  for  that  purpose  they  institute  schools  and 
colleges. 

"But  the  weather,  in  the  northerly  parts  of  the  world,  is  so 
ordered  that  heat  and  cold,  day  and  night,  pass  from  one  ex- 
treme to  the  other,  without  any  middle  state  that  is  tolerable  to 
the  soul  or  body.  For  in  summer  they  suffer  under  as  great  a 
heat  as  they  do  in  winter  under  deadly  cold  ;  one  half  of  the 
year  the  day  is  eighteen  hours  long,  and  the  other  half  only 
six.  No  less  unsettled  and  dissolute  are  the  minds  of  men — as 
changeable  as  the  weather.  They  lack  all  steadfastness  of 
-'thought  or  purpose.  From  year  to  year  they  have  new  fash- 
ions in  dress,  new  schools  of  poetry,  and  new  sects  of  philoso- 
phers. Those  who  yesterday  overthrew  tyranny — having  prais- 
ed the  blessedness  of  freedom  with  their  lips,  and  abused  its 
sweets  in  their  lives — on  the  morrow  voluntarily  return  to  ser- 
vitude. 

"  So  among  these  barbarians,  there  is  the  greatest  inequality 
in  all  things.  A  portion  of  the  people,  consisting  of  a  few  fami- 
lies, possess  every  comfort  and  unlimited  wealth,  and  riot  in 
excess  ;  but  the  majority  are  poor,  and  mostly  dependent  upon 
the  favor  of  the  great.  Thus,  too,  certain  individuals  are  in 
possession  of  the  treasures  of  knowledge,  but  the  greater  part 
of  the  inhabitants  live  in  the  darkness  of  ignoiance.  The  no- 
bility and  priests  not  only  tolerate  such  ignorance  before  their 
eyes,  but  because  it  conduces  to  their  own  advantage  they  keep 
the  multitude  in  the  debasement  to  which  they  are  already  doom- 
ed by  their  poverty  and  indolence.  Hence  it  is,  that  the  rab- 
ble of  every  nation  love  the  traditions  of  their  forefathers 
in  all  usages  and  arrangements  relating  to  the  mind,  while 
only  in  affairs  of  corporeal  gratification  are  they  inclined  to 
variety.  Still,  they  approve  any  novelty,  be  it  right  or  wrong, 
if  it  brings  them  money  or  household  distinction.     For  r*old 


FOOL  OF  THE  XIX.  CENTURY. 


21 


and  ardent  spirits  among  barbarians,  prevail  over  custom,  honor 
and  the  fear  of  God. 

"  Among  the  inhabitants  of  Thule,  freedom  is  unknown,  and 
so  much  of  it  as  they  may  have  had  in  former  times,  has 
been  taken  away  from  them  by  the  force  or  fraud  of  the  great. 
They  are  governed  by  kings,  who  give  themselves  out  as  the 
sons  of  God,  and  the  kings  and  their  satraps  are  governed  as 
much  by  mistresses  and  sweethearts  as  by  their  counsellors. 
The  people  are  divided  into  castes,  as  in  India  or  Egypt.  To 
the  first  class  belong  the  king  and  his  children  alone.  To  the 
second  belong  the  so  called  Nobles,  whose  children,  without  re- 
gard to  their  own  worthiness,  choose  the  best  offices  in  the 
army  and  state,  as  well  as  around  the  altars  of  God.  What 
is  incredible  to  us,  is  an  old  custom  among  these  barbarians, 
for  that  rank  or  birth  is  more  thought  of  than  all  other  kind? 
of  merit.  In  the  third  class  is  ranged  inferior  officers,  mechan- 
ics, merchants,  common  soldiers,  artists,  learned  men,  and  ordi- 
nary priests.  In  the  fourth  class  are  servants  or  slaves,  who  can 
be  bold  or  given  away  like  other  cattle.  With  some  people,  who 
have  partly  thrown  off  their  primitive  rudeness,  the  fourth  and 
last  class  is  wanting  ;  there  are  some,  also,  where  good  princes, 
who  have  become  sensible  of  the  power  of  their  nobility,  make 
no  laws  but  with  the  concurrence  of  a  senate,  selected  from  the 
several  classes  of  inhabitants. 

The  kings,  in  the  country  of  Thule,  live  in  perpetual  enmity 
with  each  other.  The  weak  are  only  safe  through  the  mutual 
envy  of  the  strong.  But  wheh  the  strong  throw  aside  their  jea- 
lousies, they  make  war  upon  the  weaker  states  on  the  most  trivial 
pretences,  and  divide  them  among  themselves.  Hence  they 
cause  the  title  of  the  Righteous  to  be  added  to  them, — the  Fathers 
of  the  country  or  heroes, — since  such  vain  surnames  are  every- 
where, and  especially  among  ba/barians,  much  esteemed.  But 
as  often  as  the  lower  classes  in  any  land,  making  use  of  their  pro- 
per discernment,  resist  the  preposterous  claims  of  the  higher 
classes,  these  princes  and  nobles  put  aside  their  own  contests, 
and  unite  in  the  establishment  of  oppression  upon  the  old  founda- 
tions, always,  of  course,  in  a  disinterested  manner.  Such  a  man 
is  always  looked  upon  by  barbarians  as  holy,  since  they  believe 


22 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


that  kings  and  the  disposition  of  caste  are  ordained  by  God 
himself. 

"  Of  the  public  disbursements,  that  for  the  maintenance  of  the 
court  is  the  greatest,  and  next  to  that  is  the  expense  of  the  army, 
which  even  in  peace  is  most  enormous.  For  the  instruction  of 
the  people,  for  agriculture  and  all  that  concerns  the  happiness  of 
men,  the  least  is  given.  In  most  of  the  countries  of  Thule, 
where  the  working  classes  have  the  greatest  number  of  duties 
and  the  fewest  rights,  they  must  satisfy  the  needs  and  cravings 
of  the  body  politic  by  paying  all  the  taxes. 

"  As  far  as  their  religion  is  concerned,  they  all  affirm  that  it 
is  one  and  the  same,  and  all  boast  that  their  dogmas  have  one 
and  the  same  author.  But  their  modes  of  worship  are  manifold, 
as  well  as  their  opinions  concerning  the  person  of  the  founder  of 
their  religion.  On  this  account,  the  different  sects  hate  each 
other  with  the  most  perfect  hatred.  They  persecute  and  scorn 
each  other.  Among  the  whole  of  them  there  is  to  be  found 
much  superstition  which  the  priests  encourage.  Of  the  Divine 
Majesty  they  have  the  most  unworthy  notions,  for  they  ascribe 
to  him  even  human  vices.  And  when  kings  lead  their  people  to 
war  against  each  other,  the  priests  are  appointed  on  both  sides, 
to  call  upon  the  Supreme  Being  to  destroy  the  enemy.  After  a 
battle  has  been  fought,  they  thank  the  Almighty  Governor,  that 
he  has  devoted  their  adversaries  to  destruction. 

"  Their  books  of  history  hardly  deserve  to  be  read  ;  for  they 
contain  commonly  no  account  of  the  nation,  only  of  the  kings 
and  their  advisers, — of  successions,  wars,  and  acts  of  violence. 
The  names  of  useful  inventors  and  benefactors  are  not  reported, 
but  the  names  of  devastating  generals  are  elevated  above  all 
others,  as  if  they  were  the  benefactors  of  the  human  race.  The 
histories  of  these  people  also,  inasmuch  as  their  manners  differ 
from  ours,  are  hard  to  be  understood.  For  with  them,  there  is 
not  at  all  times,  nor  at  any  particular  time  under  all  circum- 
stances, the  same  conception  of  honor  or  virtue.  In  the  higher 
classes,  incontinence,  adultery,  dissipation,  gaming,  and  the 
abuse  of  power,  are  deemed  praiseworthy,  or  appear  as  amiable 
weaknesses,  which  in  the  lower  classes  are  punished,  as  vices 
and  crimes,  with  death  and  the  dungeon.    Against  fraud  and 


FOOL  OF  THE  XIX.  CENTURY. 


2.3 


theft,  the  law  has  ordained  its  severest  penalties  ;  but  if  a  great 
man  cheats  the  government  by  his  ingenuity,  and  enriches  him- 
self at  the  cost  of  his  prince,  he  is  frequently  advanced  to  higher 
honors,  or  dismissed  with  a  pension.  As  it  is  in  respect  to  virtue 
and  vice,  so  is  it  in  regard  to  honor.  The  members  of  the  higher 
classes  require  no  other  honor  than  that  of  birth  to  merit  prefer- 
ence ;  but  the  lower  classes  can  seldom,  by  means  of  the  highest 
virtue,  attain  the  respectability  of  these  favorites  of  chance.  But 
the  honor  which  consists  in  the  accident  of  birth,  can  also  easily 
be  annihilated  by  a  single  abusive  word.  Still  more  odd,  how- 
ever, is  the  mode  of  redeeming  that  honor.  He  who  has  violated 
the  honor  of  another,  and  he  by  whom  it  has  been  lost,  meet  in 
arms  after  a  prescribed  form,  like  two  lunatics,  and  seek  to 
wound  each  other.  As  soon  as  a  wound  or  death  is  brought 
about,  no  matter  to  which  of  the  two,  they  believe  sincerely  that 
their  honor  is  again  restored. 

"  Above  all  things  else  these  barbarians  have  one  common  and 
universal  characteristic.  They  are  altogether  greedy  of  gain, 
and  to  that  end  risk  both  life  and  virtue.  It  is  among  their  singu- 
larities, that  they  are  excited  to  astonishment  or  laughter,  if  one 
works  for  another  without  a  remuneration,  or  sacrifices  his  pro- 
perty for  the  benefit  of  the  commonwealth.  They  talk  a  great 
deal  of  noble  sentiments  and  magnanimous  conduct,  but  these  are 
only  seen,  except  to  be  derided,  on  the  stage.  Yet  the  inhabit- 
ants of  Thule  quite  resemble  the  actors,  since  they  have  great 
dexterity  in  the  art  of  making  anything  appear  other  than  it  is. 
No  one  speaks  freely  to  another  what  he  thinks.  For  that  rea- 
son, they  call  the  knowledge  of  men,  the  most  difficult  art,  and 
prudence  the  highest  wisdom. 

"Meanwhile,  they  cannot  dissemble  so  much  that  their  kna- 
very or  awkwardness  shall  not  be  detected.  For  since  they 
live  in  perpetual  contradiction  to  human  reason,  teaching  one 
thing  and  doing  another,  feeling  one  thing  and  saying  another, 
and  often  choosing  the  most  repugnant  means  for  the  accom- 
plishment of  their  ends,  their  unskilfulness  is  made  manifest. 
In  order  to  encourage  agriculture,  they  burden  the  farmer  with 
heaviest  taxes  and  the  greatest  contempt  ;  to  stimulate  inter- 
course and  trade,  they  institute  innumerable  custom-houses  and 


24 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


prohibit  an  exchange  of  merchandize ;  that  they  may  punish 
and  improve  fallible  men,  they  shut  them  up  together  in  a  pub- 
lic prison,  where  they  reciprocally  corrupt  each  other  with  new 
vices,  and  from  which  they  return  accomplished  rogues  to  socie- 
ty ;  to  cherish  the  health  of  their  bodies,  they  subvert  the  order 
of  living ;  some  are  awake  during  the  night,  and  sleep  away 
the  day  ;  while  others  destroy  the  energy  of  their  bodies  by  hot 
drinks  and  spices,  which  they  buy  in  large  amounts  in  the  Indies, 
so  that  hardly  a  poor  household  is  to  be  found  which  satisfies  it- 
self  with  the  products  of  its  own  fields  or  flocks,  without  adding 
thereto  the  drinks  of  Arabia,  the  spices  of  the  Indies,  and  the 
fishes  of  the  most  distant  seas." 


THE  EFFECT  OF  THE  FRAGMENT  OF  PYTHIAS. 

Here  Olivier  finished  reading.  He  looked  towards  me  with  in- 
quisitive eyes. 

Laughing,  I  said,  "  One  must  grant,  the  tone  of  it  is  well 
kept  up.  Doubtless,  one  of  the  old  wise  men  of  Greece  would  have 
spoken  just  so  of  the  barbarous  nations  of  Asia  in  his  time,  if  he 
had  sought  them  out.  Excellent !  Even  the  stiffness  of  the 
style  denotes  that  this  fragment  is  only  a  translation.  Meantime, 
I  do  not  believe  in  its  authenticity.  We  have  nothing  of  Pythias, 
to  my  knowledge,  but — " 

Olivier  interrupted  me  with  peals  of  laughter  and  exclaimed, 
"  Oh  thou  child  of  the  eighteenth  century,  which  always  gropest 
about  the  shell  of  a  thing  and  forgettest  the  kernel,  which  always 
deals  with  the  appearance  and  not  with  the  essence,  dost 
thou  not  see  and  hear  that  thou  art  thyself  a  citizen  of  Thule  ? 
What !  Asia  ?  No, — a  wise  man  of  ancient  Greece  would  have 
spoken  thus  of  us  Europeans,  if  he  could  have  seen  us  at  this 
day !" 

"  Thou  art  right,  Olivier ;  but  thou  didst  not  suffer  me  to  fin- 
ish my  remark.  I  will  still  add  that  there  is  in  this  fragment 
the  manner  of  the  Lettres  Persannes.  The  account  relates  to  us. 
Its  exquisite  truth  cannot  be  mistaken." 


FOOL  OF  THE  XIX.  CENTURY. 


25 


"  I  only  half  understand  thee,  thou  artificial  man  !  Tell  me  ; 
dost  thou  infer  the  art  of  the  author  because  he  has  hit  the  truth  ? 
Or  thinkest  thou  that  the  truth  has  hit  thee  V* 

"  Both  !  but  thou  said'st  before  that  it  made  a  painful  impres- 
sion on  thee  ;  thou  wast  lying  with  this  book  in  the  shade  of  a 
maple.    Go  on !" 

"  Well,  there  lay  I.  When  I  had  read  the  fragment,  I  threw 
the  book  from  me,  reclined  my  head  back  upon  the  grass,  stared 
up  into  the  dark  blue  of  the  eternal  heavens — up  into  the  deep 
of  the  shoreless  universe,  I  thought  of  God,  the  all-perfect — 
all  imbued  with  Love  and  Glory — of  the  eternity  of  my  being  ; 
and  in  this  moment  of  elevated  conception  understood  much  better 
than  I  had  ever  done  many  words  of  Christ — the  Revealer  of  the 
divine  relations  of  our  spirit.  1  In  my  father's  house  there  are 
many  mansions,'  or,  '  unless  you  become  as  little  children,'  &c. 
'  Whoever  will  be  my  disciple,  let  him  deny  the  foolishness  of 
this  world,  and  take  up  my  cross  willingly.'  And  I  never  saw 
the  divinity  of  Christ  more  clearly  than  then.  I  thought  of  the 
degeneracy  of  men,  who  from  century  to  century  have  wandered 
further  from  the  truth,  simplicity,  and  happiness  of  Nature,  to  a 
brutal,  sensual,  foolish  and  painful  life.  I  flew  back  in  thought 
to  the  dawn  of  time,  to  the  earliest  people,  to  the  simple  wisdom  of 
the  lofty  ancients.  I  sighed,  the  tears  came  into  my  eyes.  I 
was  again  in  my  fancy  a  child  of  God.  Wherefore  can  I  not 
feel  truly,  think  truly,  speak  truly,  act  truly,  as  did  Jesus 
Christ?  Can  I  not  break  the  chains  of  custom  ?  What  but  stu- 
pid timidity  hinders  me  from  being  a  reasonable  godly  man 
among  delirious  and  perverse  barbarians  ?  I  said  this.  In  my 
imagination  I  was  so  already.  I  closed  my  eyes.  I  felt  an  un- 
speakable happiness  in  being  free  from  the  tormenting  sensuality 
of  the  world,  again  to  be  reconciled,  and  at  one  with  God,  Na- 
ture, the  Universe,  and  Eternity.  So  I  lay  a  long  while  ;  then, 
as  I  opened  my  eyes,  the  sun  had  gone  down,  and  the  glow  of 
evening  suffused  and  gilded  all  things." 

"  I  know  that  holy  state  of  mind,"  exclaimed  the  Baroness. 

"  When  I  rose  up  in  order  to  return  to  the  city,"  continued 
Olivier,  "  my  eyes  fell  upon  my  uniform — it  went  through  me 
like  a  flash.    Loathsome  lay  the  world  in  all  its  foolishness,  in 


26 


ZSCHOLKE'S  TALES. 


all  its  nonsense  before  me  ;  never  had  I  seen  more  clearly  than 
in  that  moment,  the  frightful  departure  of  mankind  from  the  Eter- 
nal, the  True,  and  the  Holy.  I  perceived  how  Socrates,  had  he 
lived  at  this  day,  would  once  more  have  been  obliged  to  drink 
the  poisoned  cup ;  that  Christ  would  have  found  in  every  city 
another  Jerusalem — would  have  been  led  to  the  cross  by  Christian 
sects  unanimously,  and  would  have  been  condemned  by  princes 
as  an  Enemy  to  the  good  old  ways,  as  a  Seducer  of  the  people, 
as  a  Fanatic.  I  shuddered.  Then  I  asked  myself  in  a  loud 
tone  of  voice,  '  Hast  thou  courage  V  A  firm  resolution  seized 
me.  I  answered  in  the  same  voice,  '  I  have  courage.  It  shall 
be.    I  will  live  rationally,  come  what  may !" 

"  The  next  morning,  after  I  had  had  a  bracing  sleep  and  quite 
forgotten  all  that  I  had  thought  on  the  previous  evening,  this  book 
again  came  under  my  eyes.  I  remembered  my  determination. 
I  saw  the  perilousness  of  my  undertaking.  I  wavered.  Still  1 
was  compelled  to  acknowledge  the  truth  of  my  yesterday's  con- 
viction. 1  Whoever  would  be  my  disciple,  must  forsake  all/  &c. 
I  thought  over  my  domestic  and  public  relations.  The  rich 
young  man  in  the  gospel,  who  seemed  sorrowful  at  the  words 
of  Christ,  occurred  to  me.  Then  I  asked  myself  again,  '  Hast 
thou  courage?'  And  with  a  louder  voice  answered,  'I  will 
have  it.'  And  so  I  determined  from  that  hour  to  live  rationally, 
in  the  least  as  well  as  in  the  greatest  things.  The  first  step 
taken,  the  scorn  of  the  world  is  not  thought  of,  and  each  subse- 
quent step  becomes  easier." 

"  I  tremble  for  thee,  thou  noble  enthusiast."  cried  I,  grasping 
his  hand  ;  "  but  wilt  thou  not  tell  me  the  issue  of  thy  daring  ?" 

"  Wherefore  not  ?  But  such  things  must  be  talked  of  in  the 
open  air,  under  the  broad  sky,  beneath  the  trees,  in  sight  of  the 
wide  waving  sea,"  said  Olivier  ;  "  for,  dear  Norbert,  in  a  room, 
between  walls  and  partitions,  many  things  seem  rational,  which, 
in  the  face  of  Nature  where  the  soul  loses  itself  in  the  broad 
pure  All,  appear  quite  fanciful  and  dream-like.  And  we  find 
outdoors,  in  the  presence  of  God's  creation  where  the  Eternal 
and  the  True  stand  for  ever,  that  many  things  are  perfectly 
right,  which,  between  the  walls  of  a  dwelling-house  full  of  con- 
ventionalities, or  within  the  walls  of  a  philosophical  lecture-room, 


FOOL  OF  THE  XIX.  CENTURY. 


2*7 


an  audience-chamber,  a  dancing  saloon,  or  a  gorgeous  parlor, 
appear  as  an  extravagant  silliness,  an  enthusiasm,  or  idiotcy. 
Come,  then,  into  the  open  air  PJ 

He  took  me  by  the  arm.  The  Baroness  went  to  her  children. 
Olivier  led  me  through  the  garden  to  a  little  hill  where  we  re- 
clined in  the  shadow  of  a  wall.  Above  us,  in  the  broad  atmo- 
sphere, swung  the  tender  branches  of  the  birch  :  below  us  rolled 
the  sparkling  waves  of  the  eternal  ocean. 

u  Fate  favored  me  very  much  even  on  my  first  coming  to 
reason.  My  father,  whose  property  had  been  scattered  by  pro- 
digal expenditure,  left  me  at  his  death  a  scanty  inheritance.  But  I 
had  a  prospect,  after  the  decease  of  my  uncle,  of  becoming  a 
goodly  owner  of  wealth.  This  was  known  to  everybody.  On 
that  account,  I  had  been  betrothed  to  the  Baroness  Von  Mooser, 
the  daughter  of  the  President  of  the  Exchequer.  She  was  one 
of  the  most  eligible  matches  in  the  country,  as  they  used  to  say, 
being  very  pretty,  very  rich,  and  the  niece  of  the  War-Minister. 
The  marriage  having  been  concerted  by  my  relations  and  the 
old  uncle,  I  was  compelled  to  agree  to  it,  according  to  custom. 
But  the  sickness  of  my  uncle,  who  stood  to  me  in  place  of  a 
father,  caused  the  ceremony  to  be  postponed.  I  was  already 
major,  and  by  the  next  promotion  would  have  become  lieutenant- 
colonel.  In  a  few  years  a  regiment  would  have  been  at  my  ser- 
vice. 

"  So  stood  matters  at  that  time ;  and  I  soon  found,  after  my 
recovery  of  reason,  that  they  were  not  the  most  agreeable.  It 
was  an  uncomfortable  thought  that  I,  a  free  man,  should  be 
forced  by  my  relatives  to  couple  myself  to  a  girl,  for  the  sake  of 
money,  rank,  and  protection,  without  knowing  her  peculiarities, 
views,  faults,  or  inclinations.  The  Baroness  was,  it  must  be 
confessed,  pretty  and  good,  but  nothing  more  than  any  young- 
lady  might  be  under  the  same  training;  well  disposed  by  nature, 
but  through  an  artificial  education,  vain,  pleasure-loving,  trivial, 
proud  of  her  family,  her  rank,  and  her  beauty,  and  witty  at  the 
expense  of  the  best  people  in  the  world  ;  in  all  things  more  French 
than  German.  Whether  she  truly  loved  me  or  not,  I  did  not 
know  •  but  that  I  cared  no  more  for  her  than  for  any  other  well 
formed  and  pretty  woman,  I  did  know. 


28 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


"  A  letter  brought  by  a  messenger,  summoned  me  to  my  sick 
uncle.  I  procured  a  furlough  from  the  General,  took  leave  of 
my  betrothed  and  her  parents,  and  rode  off.  When  I  arrived, 
my  uncle  was  already  dead  and  buried.  An  old  steward  handed 
over  to  me  the  keys  of  the  closets,  and  the  will.  I  counted  off 
the  little  legacies  to  the  servants,  let  the  steward  into  my  secret, 
and  openly  declared  myself  poor,  as  all  the  means  of  my  uncle 
were  covered  with  debts. 

"  Thus  I  returned  to  the  garrison,  and  made  known  my  story. 
I  did  it  to  try  the  disposition  of  my  betrothed,  whether  she  had 
the  courage  to  remain  by  my  side  in  the  world,  and  become 
what  I  was.  To  make  the  story  more  striking,  I  sold  what  I 
did  not  want,  to  pay  my  own  debts  in  the  city,  of  which,  old  and 
new,  there  was  a  small  amount.  My  companions  laughed  at 
me,  and  particularly  when  I  gave  out  that  I  intended,  at  least,  to 
bean  honest  man.  Even  the  President  of  the  Exchequer  and 
his  spouse  dissuaded  me  ;  I  must  not  excite  eclat — I  would  Ma- 
mire  myself  and  them — I  would  make  myself  and  them  au  ridi- 
cule, &c. 

"  I  stuck  to  my  notions,  that  honor  is  more  than  appearance, 
poverty  is  no  disgrace,  and  he  who  can  want  much  is  rich. 
These  saws,  as  they  were  termed,  pleased  the  Baroness  least  of 
all.  Her  parents  gave  me  to  understand  that  their  child  had 
been  accustomed  to  certain  aisances,  and  that  they  were  not  rich 
enough  at  that  late  period  of  their  lives,  to  give  me  and  their 
daughter  an  outfit.  Finally,  after  a  few  days,  they  trusted  im- 
plicitly that  my  own  sense  of  delicacy  would  prompt  me  to  re- 
lease them  from  the  contract.  I  did  not  hesitate  to  do  it,  and  to 
declare  that  I  thought  I  got  off  cheaply,  since  no  mutual  choice  of 
hearts,  but  only  an  agreement  and  money  reckoning  among  rela- 
tives had  taken  place. 

"  My  assumed  poverty  had  other  effects  of  a  good  kind — name- 
ly, that  old  friends  and  jolly  comrades  did  not  so  earnestly  seek 
my  company.  Still  it  pleased  me,  that  some  continued  to  hold 
me  in  esteem.  But  the  most  of  them  became  cold  and  distant ; 
for,  with  my  money,  I  had  lost  in  their  eyes  my  highest  attrac- 
tion. '  So  much  the  better,'  thought  I ;  '  thou  canst  act  and  speak 
more  sincerely.'  " 


FOOL  OF  THE  XIX.  CENTURY. 


29 


"  But  I  was  no  more  fortunate  in  my  attempts  to  lead  a  true 
life, — and  this  was  foreseen — than  others  who  have  preceded  me. 
For  several  winters  I  had  been  accustomed  to  deliver  lectures  to 
the  officers  on  scientific  subjects.  I  continued  the  occupation, 
and  uttered  my  sentiments  freely.  But  when  I  came  to  lay  down 
the  following  proposition,  that  every  war  which  was  not  under 
taken  for  the  independence  and  safety  of  our  country  against 
foreign  invaders,  but  for  the  personal  whims  of  a  prince,  intrigues 
of  ministers,  the  ambition  of  the  court,  in  order  to  conquer,  to 
mix  in  the  affairs  of  another  people,  or  for  the  sake  of  revenge, 
was  unjust ;  that  standing  armies  were  the  plague  of  the  land, 
the  ruin  of  the  finances,  the  ready  slaves  of  despotism,  when  the 
prince  wished  to  become  a  despot ;  that  the  soldier  should  be  a 
citizen  ;  that  a  hereditary  or  created  nobility  was,  now-a-days, 
nonsense,  which  could  only  be  tolerated  among  savages  and  bar- 
barians ;  that  I  hoped  to  live  to  see  the  time  when  all  the  kings 
of  Europe  would  agree  by  concordat  to  disband  their  immense 
standing  armies,  and  on  the  other  hand  make  their  soldiers  only 
of  all  citizens  capable  of  bearing  arms ;  that  duels  belonged  to 
the  house  of  correction  or  the  insane  asylum :  when,  I  say,  I  in- 
troduced these  propositions,  and  others  like  them,  and  defended 
their  correctness,  of  which  no  sane  human  understanding  could 
doubt,  the  lectures  were  prohibited,  and  the  General  gave  me  a 
severe  reprimand.  I  answered  back  again,  and  was  put  under 
arrest. 

"  This  did  not  disturb  me,  for  I  had  all  along  expected  it. 
Above  all  things  I  performed  my  duty.  After  I  had  fallen  out 
of  the  favor  of  the  General,  even  the  best  officers  began  to  with- 
draw from  me.  They  laughed  and  jested  at  my  expense.  Some 
of  the  wittiest  insisted  that  I  was  crazy,  and  thought  it  a  conse- 
quence of  the  shock  I  must  have  received  when  my  hopes  were 
disappointed  as  to  the  large  inheritance.  I  was  soon  so  much  ne- 
glected that  even  my  former  servants  would  remain  with  me  no 
longer,  becauss  I  supported  them  and  myself  upon  slender 
means,  rejected  coffee,  seldom  took  wine,  and,  instead  of  their 
former  rich  liveries,  caused  them  to  wear  a  simple  neat  garb, 
such  as  happily  thou  seest  me  in  now. 

"  On  the  other  hand,  about  the  same  time  I  received  a  letter 


30 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


which  made  amends  for  all.  I  had,  some  time  before,  found  a  poor 
beggar  girl  weeping  near  the  barn  of  a  farm-house.  In  the  barn 
her  ragged  mother  lay  dying  upon  the  hay.  I  learned  from  the 
dying  woman,  who  was  still  young,  that  she  was  from  Southern 
Germany,  of  poor  but  respectable  parents,  had  been  in  the  ser- 
vice of  a  rich  lord,  where  she  was  seduced  by  the  son  of  the 
house,  who  gave  her  a  piece  of  money  and  sent  her  away  ;  that 
after  her  delivery,  she  had  sought  employment,  but  on  account 
of  her  child,  could  procure  it  nowhere  for  any  length  of  time, 
was  greatly  distressed,  had  lately  lived  upon  alms,  and  could 
now  only  pray  for  her  daughter.  I  ran  into  the  peasant's  house 
to  buy  her  some  refreshments,  for  the  peasant  himself  would 
hardly  allow  her  a  resting-place  in  his  shed.  When  I  came 
back  she  already  lay  lifeless  upon  the  hay,  and  the  little 
girl  was  mourning  bitterly  over  the  corpse  of  her  mother.  I 
comforted  her  as  well  as  I  could ;  discharged  the  expenses  of 
interment,  and  sent  the  orphan,  who  did  not  know  the  family 
name  of  her  mother,  to  a  female  boarding-school  at  Rastrow. 
She  was  called  Amelia,  and  I  gave  her  out  of  charity  the  sur- 
name of  Barn,  after  the  place  in  which  she  was  found. 

"  Well  then,  when  all  had  deserted  me,  I  received  from  this 
Amelia  Barn  a  letter,  which  is  still  secured  among  my  treas- 
ures. Thou  shalt  read  it.  At  that  time  it  moved  me  to  tears. 
The  contents  were,  in  effect,  that  she  had  heard  of  my  misfor 
tune,  and  thought  that  she  must  no  longer  be  a  burden  to  her 
father,  as  she  was  accustomed  to  call  me.  She  would  seek,  as  a 
governess  in  some  good  family,  or  by  means  of  embroidery,  dress- 
making, instruction  on  the  pianoforte,  or  in  some  other  way,  to 
earn  her  support.  I  must  not  trouble  myself  about  her ;  since 
now  it  came  to  her  turn  to  be  anxious  about  me.  Thou  must  read 
the  letter  thyself,  with  its  beautiful  outburst  of  gratitude.  It  is 
the  very  mirror  of  a  pious  and  pure  heart.  She  asked  for  per- 
mission to  see,  only  for  once,  the  benefactor,  whose  image  was 
traced  on  her  memory  since  the  day  of  her  mother's  death.  I 
wrote  back,  praising  her  good  sense,  but  advising  her  that  she 
had  no  occasion  to  be  in  a  hurry ;  I  would  take  care  of  her  until 
she  had  found  a  suitable  place. 

M  One  day  as  I  had  returned  from  parade,  there  was  a  knock 


FOOL  OF  THE  XIX.  CENTURY. 


31 


at  the  door  of  my  chamber.  A  strange  young  lady  with  a  most 
lovely  countenance  entered.  The  lilies  and  plum-blossoms  do 
not  mingle  their  colors  more  beautifully  in  a  bouquet  than  they 
were  mingled  on  her  face,  under  full  flowing  locks  of  hair.  Blush- 
ingly,  and  with  a  tender  voice,  she  asked  after  me,  then  melting 
into  tears,  fell  down,  embraced  my  knees,  and  when  I,  greatly 
astonished,  would  have  raised  her  up,  covered  my  hands  with  her 
kisses.  What  I  suspected  was  confirmed  by  her  cry  of  '  O  my 
father,  my  father  ;  O  my  guardian  angel !'  I  besought  her  to 
arise.  She  asked  me  to  allow  her  to  remain  in  that  position,  say- 
ing, '  Ah,  I  am  so  happy,  that  my  heart  is  like  to  break.' 

"  It  was  a  long  while  before  she  let  me  go,  and  stood  up. 
Then  I  clasped  her  to  my  breast,  impressed  a  kiss  upon  her 
pure  white  forehead,  and  requested  her  to  consider  me  as  a 
father,  and  to  call  me  Thou.  She  listened.  But  the  fatherly 
kiss  had  somewhat  confused  my  thoughts.  She  was  taken  to 
the  hotel,  where  she  remained  some  days  ;  but  these  days  were 
enough  to  undermine  my  peace  of  mind.  When  Amelia  jour- 
neyed back  to  the  institution,  I  counselled  her  to  remain  in  the 
house  of  some  respectable  citizen,  and  take  in  embroidery  for 
support.  It  was  hard  for  me  to  tear  myself  from  her  ;  yet  I  did 
not  betray  to  her  that  I  was  rich.  I  wished  to  try  her  ;  I  hired 
a  chamber  for  her,  engaged  a  maid  for  her  service,  supplied  her 
with  harpsichord,  harp,  books,  and,  after  a  few  days,  also  with  the 
proceeds  of  the  sale  of  her  embroidery,  freely,  at  her  own  price 
under  the  pretence  that  they  came  from  a  strange  hand.  I 
visited  her  only  once  or  twice  a  week,  to  avoid  observation 
and  evil  construction. 

"  Every  visit  was  a  feast.  Thou  canst  think  how  sweet  it 
was  to  know  that  there  was  one  being  under  the  sun,  indebted  to 
thee  for  all,  who  belonged  to  no  one  in  the  world  except  thy- 
self, who  was  entirely  dependent  upon  thy  care,  and  that  this 
being,  of  all  that  nature  had  made  beautiful,  pious,  and  noble, 
was  the  most  exquisite.  The  beauty  and  humble  condition  of 
Amelia  was  soon  no  secret  in  the  town.  She  drew  all  eyes  towards 
her.  They  spoke  to  me  about  her,  and  I  did  not  dissemble  that 
I  was  her  foster-father,  and  that  she  was  a  poor  child  of  dis- 


32 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


honorable  birth.  Work  after  work  was  brought  to  her,  so  tha; 
I  advised  her  to  go  to  some  other  and  unknown  house.  Young 
ladies  came  to  her,  less  for  the  sake  of  her  embroidery,  than  tc 
see  one  who  was  so  much  praised  by  the  whole  neighborhood. 

"  One  day  when  I  was  visiting  Amelia,  as  I  stood  before  the 
door  of  her  chamber,  I  heard  her  in  hot  dispute  with  some  man. 
I  recognized  the  voice  of  my  lieutenant-colonel.  Just  as  I 
opened  the  door,  he  was  stealing  a  kiss  from  her.  I  upbraided 
him  for  his  disgraceful  conduct,  and  availed  myself  of  the  oppor- 
tunity to  help  him  somewhat  quietly  out  of  the  door,  and  down 
the  steps.  He  fancied  that  I  had  tarnished  his  honor,  and  chal- 
lenged me  to  fight  a  duel.  I  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  his 
nonsense.  The  corps  of  officers  threatened  that  they  would  not 
serve  under  me,  if  I  was  a  coward.  That  I  was  not,  and  so  went 
out  to  the  usual  battle-ground  weaponless,  saying  to  the  fool  that 
if  he  was  ambitious  to  be  an  assassin,  I  would  give  him  permis- 
sion to  try  his  hand  on  me.  He  and  the  officers  then  became 
excessively  abusive.  They  believed,  according  to  their  barba- 
rous conception,  that  my  honor  would  sustain  a  deadly  wound, 
although,  in  reality,  they  dishonored  themselves  only  by  their 
brutality.  I  asked  them  whether  the  blackguards  who  covered 
a  respectable  man  passing  in  the  street  with  mud,  became  them- 
selves respectable  thereby,  or  whether,  on  the  other  hand,  the  re- 
spectable man  became  a  blackguard. 

"  At  the  parade  the  next  morning,  the  General  delivered  to 
me,  with  a  suitable  speech,  an  Order  just  received  from  the 
court.  This  was  one  of  the  late  fruits  of  my  former  connexion 
with  the  Baroness  Von  Mooser,  and  the  work  of  her  uncle, 
the  War-Minister.  I  could  not,  according  to  my  notions  of  my 
services,  receive  the  little  ribbon.  Had  I  really  performed  a 
service  to  the  state,  I  should  have  been  ashamed  to  drag  the 
reward  of  it  vaingloriously  about  with  me  all  day.  My  stead- 
fast refusal  to  take  the  lappet  with  a  little  star  on  it,  was  a 
thing  unheard  of  in  the  annals  of  the  monarchy.  My  idea 
was  that  duty  and  virtue  did  not  permit  themselves  to  be  re- 
warded, but  only  recognized  ;  that  the  man  of  honor  would  do 
his  duty,  recognized  or  not ;  that  least  of  all  should  he  suffer 
himself  to  play  the  great  man  before  other  people,  particularly 


FOOL  OF  THE  XIX.  CENTURY. 


33 


those  whom  he  had  aided  ;  yet  these  notions  went  for  so  much 
Jacobinism  and  nonsense.  The  General  was  angered.  The 
officers  then  stepped  forward  in  behalf  of  their  wounded  honor.  I 
was  arrested,  and  after  some  weeks  discharged  from  the  regiment. 

"  I  was  well  satisfied.  I  clad  myself  citizen  fashion,  as  I 
wished  ;  not  after  the  present  uncouth  mode,  but  modestly, 
neatly,  and  naturally,  as  thou  now  seest  us  all  here  in  Flyeln. 
The  people  opened  their  eyes,  and  regarded  me  as  a  crazy  man, 
and  the  more  so  when  it  transpired  that  I  was  not  only  not  poor, 
but  one  of  the  most  wealthy  men  in  the  land.  Amelia  wished 
to  know  why  I  behaved  so.  I  communicated  to  her  my  opi- 
nions of  the  world,  as  well  as  my  own  principles.  She,  a  child 
of  nature,  simple  and  full  of  soul,  approved  my  notions,  and 
lived  according  to  them.  I  could  not  but  be  proud  of  Amy's 
judgment,  for  it  was  my  own.  She  thought  and  felt  as  I  did ; 
her  being  was  rapt  in  mine.  Her  reverential,  daughterly  love 
had  been  changed  into  the  purest,  most  modest,  and  deepest 
love  that  a  young  woman  knows,  and  I  appeared,  even  to  my- 
self, somewhat  too  young  to  play  the  part  of  a  father. 

"  One  day  when  I  told  her  that  I  thought  of  returning  to  my 
possessions,  she  asked  whether  she  might  follow  me  ;  and  said 
she  would  be  happy  to  serve  me  as  a  maid.  And  when  I 
hesitated,  saying,  that  I  had  some  notion  of  getting  married, 
she  dropped  her  head  and  said,  ?  All  the  better,  thy  wife  will 
not  find  a  more  trusty  servant  than  I.'  '  But,'  said  I,  '  my 
future  wife  has  not  now  as  excellent  an  opinion  of  thee  as 
thou  deservest.'  'What  have  I  done  to  her?'  she  answered 
with  the  lofty  expression  and  pride  of  an  innocent.  '  Show  me 
thy  bride,  and  I  will  win  her  affection  and  esteem.'  I  led 
Amy  to  the  looking-glass  which  hung  in  the  chamber,  pointed 
to  it,  and  said  stammering,  1  There  thou  seest  her !'  She 
started  with  fright,  grew  pale  as  she  turned  her  large  blue  eyes 
towards  me,  and  whispering  with  a  tremulous  voice,  1  I  am  not 
well,'  sank  death-like  upon  the  floor.  I  called  the  maid  ;  I  was 
palsied  by  the  sudden  fright. 

"  As  Amelia  recovered  from  her  swoon,  and  the  color  came 
into  her  cheeks,  she  opened  her  eyes,  and  smiled  gently  on  me, 
wondering  at  the  anxiety  of  both  myself  and  the  maid.  By 
4 


34 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


degrees,  her  recollection  returned  ;  she  believed  that  she  had 
been  asleep.  I  hardly  ventured  to  speak  to  her  of  what  had 
passed.  As  soon  as  we  were  alone  again,  I  said,  1  Amelia, 
why  wert  thou  so  frightened  before  the  glass?  Wherefore 
durst  thou  not  become  my  wife.  Speak  freely,  I  am  prepared 
to  hear  all.'  She  blushed,  and  was  a  long  while  silent,  with 
her  eyes  fixed  on  the  floor.  '  Wherefore  dost  thou  not  dare  V 
asked  I  once  more.  Here  she  sighed  and  looked  towards 
Heaven.  'Dare,  oh  yes!  dare!  What  dare  I  not  to  do,  if 
thou  wishest  it  ?  Can  I  be  happy,  can  I  live  without  thee  ? 
Whether  thy  servant  or  thy  wife,  all  is  the  same,  for  I  have 
but  one  love  for  thee.' 

"  Whilst  I  thus  lived  in  the  very  portal  of  Heaven,  the  whole 
town  was  quite  gone  with  astonishment ;  my  relations  on  both 
father's  and  mother's  side,  were  in  terror  and  desperation,  when 
I  informed  them  of  my  approaching  nuptials  with  Amelia.  A 
baron,  of  an  old  and  noble  family,  whose  ancestors  had  been 
covered  with  the  highest  dignities  in  the  service  of  the  king  ; 
a  knight,  capable  of  entering  the  list  at  a  tournament,  and  in- 
termarried with  the  chief  families  of  the  land — to  form  such  a 
wicked  mis-alliance, — to  marry,  not  with  one  of  the  parvenue  no- 
bility, not  even  with  the  citizen  class,  nor  yet  with  the  daughter 
of  a  respectable  mechanic, — but  with  a  beggar-girl,  and  she  of 
disreputable  birth  !  Only  think  !  My  relations  wrote  me  threat- 
ening letters,  to  the  effect  that  they  would  discard  me,  that  they 
would  deprive  me  of  my  inheritance,  that  they  would  have  me 
put  under  restraint.  They  came  all  too  late,  for  in  about 
fourteen  days  Amelia  and  I  were  formally  married. 

"  Why  should  I  tell  thee  of  the  foolish  things,  which  men  in- 
fected with  prejudices  began  to  do,  as  soon  as  I  determined  to 
live  as  an  honest,  natural  man,  strictly  according  to  truth,  banish- 
ing all  duplicity,  all  dancing-master  frivolities,  all  foreign  airs, 
all  the  so  called  etiquette  of  conduct,  without,  on  the  other  hand, 
losing  sight  of  a  respectable  and  dignified  deportment?  My 
simple  Thou,  with  which  I  began  to  accost  them,  and  to  re- 
quest them  to  accost  me,  frightened  many  away  from  me,  as 
though  I  were  smitten  with  plague-spots.  My  beard  became  a 
subject  of  wit;  my  frank  return  of  a  friendly  salutation  in  the 


FOOL  OF  THE  XIX.  CENTURY. 


35 


streets,  without  ceremoniously  taking  off  the  hat,  was  called  rude- 
ness. I  did  not  suffer  myself  to  be  put  out.  At  some  time  or 
other  the  ice  must  be  broken.  I  wished  to  see,  whether  one  could 
live  in  the  nineteenth  century,  in  a  European  city,  without  em- 
bracing all  its  humbugs,  and  all  the  prescribed  notions  of  honor, 
manners,  justice  and  respectability.  So  far  from  offending  any 
one  by  an  ill-habit,  or  from  making  their  prejudices,  or  whims, 
or  moral  peculiarities  a  reproach,  I  was  more  complaisant  to- 
wards them  ;  I  sought  men,  from  whom  I  differed  as  much  ex- 
ternally as  I  did  already  in  my  inmost  being,  in  order  to  con- 
ciliate them  by  goodness  and  kindness. 

"  I  betook  myself  to  my  estate  here  in  Flyeln,  where  I  found 
delight  in  becoming  known  and  respected  by  my  dependants. 
They  were  then  half  wild ;  they  were  vassals.  They  cringed 
in  the  most  slavish  manner  before  their  master.  None  of  them 
could  read  or  write  ;  they  were  lazy  and  indecent.  To  be  idle, 
to  guzzle,  to  fight,  seemed  to  be  their  heaven.  Superstition  was 
their  religion,  a  deadly,  godless  sanctimony  their  observance  of 
it,  and  deceit  and  falsehood  their  prudence.  I  determined  to 
make  men  out  of  these  brutes.  I  caused  the  prisoners  to  be 
improved,  and  a  great  school-house  to  be  buill.  Amelia  and 
I  visited  every  hut ;  they  were  mere  mud-stalls.  I  ordained 
heavy  punishments  against  the  smallest  indecency.  Whoever 
did  not  obey,  was  put  into  gaol  ;  on  the  other  hand,  to  the  obe- 
dient I  gave,  by  way  of  encouragement,  tables,  glasses,  chairs, 
and  other  household  furniture.  Soon  everything  in  the  houses 
was  well  arranged  and  neat.  I  forbade  card-playing,  brandy, 
coffee,  wrestling,  cursing,  and  swearing,  &c,  &c.  Whoever 
failed  was  chastised,  and  those  that  obeyed,  and  for  one  month 
gave  no  cause  for  censure,  I  suffered  to  become  mere  bond- 
servants. I  gave  the  old  pastor  an  annuity  ;  chose  a  young, 
learned,  and  excellent  clergyman,  who  soon  entered  into  my 
plans,  in  place  of  the  former  :  appointed  a  person  skilled  in  va- 
rious knowledge,  and  educated  in  Switzerland  by  Pestalozzi,  as 
schoolmaster,  with  a  good  salary ;  and  with  the  help  of  both 
these  perfected  the  reformation.  I  myself  kept  a  school  twice 
a  week,  composed  of  the  larger  boys  and  young  men  ;  Amelia 
rook  the  girls  ;  and  the  wife  of  the  pastor  the  matrons.    I  caused 


3fi 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES 


all  the  children  to  be  clothed  at  my  expense,  as  thou  seest  them 
now.  At  our  expense  also,  Amelia  changed  the  ill-shaped 
dresses  of  the  maidens. 

The  school  and  prison  worked  well.  The  young  men,  at  my 
solicitation,  suffered  their  beards  to  grow.  I  forbade  it  to  the 
slaves— only  the  free  being  allowed  to  wear  beards  ;  whilst 
slaves  must  go  shorn.  I  opened  the  door  to  freedom.  Who- 
ever, after  my  directions,  cultivated  his  field  the  best,  received  it 
at  the  end  of  the  year  for  a  small  but  easily  redeemed  ground- 
rent,  as  his  own,  and  therewith  certain  privileges.  Whoever  for 
two  years  was  the  most  frugal,  diligent,  and  skilful,  obtained  his 
freedom,  his  own  house,  an  outfit  in  money,  an  honorable  dress, 
modelled  after  my  own,  and  might  suffer  his  beard  to  grow. 
Before  the  end  of  the  first  year,  I  had  occasion,  nay  was  under 
obligation,  to  free  a  great  many  families ;  these  had  begun  to 
improve  before  my  arrival.  They  awakened  the  envy  of  some, 
but  a  general  emulation  among  others,  the  more  so,  when  on 
court-day  1  placed  the  freemen  beside  me  to  decide  the  cases  of 
those  who  had  erred.  The  subordinate  judges  were  chosen  by 
the  freemen  themselves  from  out  of  their  own  number. 

"  Whilst  I  was  here  troubling  myself  very  little  about  the 
outward  world,  the  world  troubled  itself  the  more  about  me. 
Quite  unexpectedly  one  day  an  extraordinary  commission,  which 
was  sent  by  ministerial  command,  to  inquire  into  the  state  of  my 
health  and  property,  made  its  appearance.  My  relations  had  re- 
ported me  to  be  crazy,  and  that  I  squandered  my  property  in  the 
most  frantic  methods.  The  gentlemen  of  the  commission  behaved 
very  well  for  several  months.  What  report  they  rendered  I 
don't  know,  but  probably,  as  I  forgot  to  put  money  into  their 
es  hands,  not  the  most  favorable.  For,  without  regard  to  my  wish- 
or  my  threats  of  vengeance,  they  treated  me  as  a  lunatic,  and 
confined  me  to  my  estate.  An  administrator  of  my  property  was 
sent  down,  who  was  at  the  same  time  to  watch  my  conduct,  and 
prevent  the  intrusions  of  visitors.  Fortunately,  the  adminis- 
trator was  an  honest,  well-informed  man,  so  that  we  speedily  be- 
came friends.  When  he  had  looked  through  my  accounts,  the 
good  man  was  astonished  at  my  rigid  economy,  and  was  of  opi- 
nion, that  by  means  of  this,  and  the  redemption  money  paid  by  the 


FOOL  OF  THE  XIX.  CENTURY. 


37 


bond-servants  and  slaves,  I  should  gain  more  than  I  lost.  At 
times  he  assisted  me  in  the  attempt  to  humanize  my  slaves.  He 
suggested  some  good  things,  viz :  that  for  the  space  of  five 
years  the  emancipated  should  render  an  account  of  their  receipts 
and  expenditures,  in  order  to  assure  themselves  that  they  were 
not  growing  worse  or  becoming  more  indolent.  The  good  man, 
in  the  end,  was  quite  enamored  with  our  Flyeln  household,  since 
he  saw  that,  under  well-directed  management,  nothing  was  done 
in  vain.  Before  the  second  year  of  my  being  there,  the  peasants 
of  our  community  had  distinguished  themselves  above  the  whole 
neighborhood,  for  thrift,  knowledge,  and  respectability.  They 
called  us,  in  other  places,  the  Moravian  brethren,  and  even  to 
this  day,  in  the  neighboring  villages,  they  believe  that  we  have 
adopted  a  new  religion. 

"  The  administrator  and  guardian  found  my  notions  of  the 
world,  in  the  main,  uncommonly  correct.  He  even  went  so  far 
as  to  wish  that  people  generally  would  return  to  greater  simpli- 
city and  truthfulness  in  manners,  conduct  and  life.  But  he  could 
not  stand  the  beard  :  he  stuck  for  life  and  death  to  the  queue 
in  the  neck  and  the  powder  on  the  hair ;  the  Thou  was  quite  of- 
fensive to  him,  and  he  could  not,  to  Amelia  and  me,  in  spite  of  all 
his  efforts,  bring  it  over  his  lips.  Meanwhile,  his  report  about 
me, — after  an  administration  of  one  year,  and  after  he  had 
made  to  the  government  the  most  favorable  disclosures  as  to  my 
sound  management  of  my  property, — had  the  happy  effect  of 
restoring  me  to  the  control  of  my  own  affairs,  under  a  condition, 
however,  that  I  should  render  a  yearly  account  of  them.  This 
was  the  doing  of  my  relatives.  They  would  not  be  persuaded 
that  I  had  not  lost  a  good  deal  of  sound  human  understanding, 
although  my  former  guardian  had  made  me  out  at  the  worst 
only  a  wonderfully  queer  fellow.  So,  on  that  account,  and  that 
I  might  give  offence  to  no  one  by  means  of  my  new  error, 
namely,  my  free  utterance  of  whatever  nature  and  reason  sanc- 
tioned, I  was  forbidden,  without  special  permission,  from  going 
out  of  the  boundaries  of  my  estate,  i.  e.,  from  visiting  the  great 
European  lunatic  asylum,  which  I  was  allowed  to  know  of  only 
through  the  newspapers.    By  that  I  was  a  greater  gainer. 

"  It  is  now  five  years  that  I  have  dwelt  here  in  my  blesseo 


38 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


solitude.  Go  out,  consider  my  fields,  and  the  fields  of  our 
farmers,  our  forests,  our  flocks,  and  our  dwelling-places  !  Thou 
shalt  see  a  blooming  prosperity  where  it  was  before  unknown. 
All  my  slaves  are  free.  Only  a  single  drunkard,  and  another 
lazy  rough  churl,  seemed  to  be  unimprovable.  The  drunkard 
starved.  The  other  could  not  be  corrected  either  by  rewards  or 
punishments.  But  as  all  Flyeln  wore  beards,  and  he  and  the 
pastor  alone  were  clear-chinned,  it  wrought  a  most  wonderful 
effect  upon  the  fellow ;  for  the  pastor  was  moved  to  let  his 
beard  grow,  so  that  the  slave  became  the  only  smooth  face  of 
the  lot.  He  couldn't  endure  that,  and  thus  improved  himself, 
that  he  might  be  respected  among  respectable  people. 

"  The  beard  of  the  good  pastor  was  a  scandal  to  the  consis- 
tory. Although  he  proved  that  a  beard  was  not  against  the  true 
faith  ;  although  he  called  to  mind  the  holy  men  of  both  the  Old 
and  New  Testament ;  although  he  showed  that  he,  by  making 
himself  like  his  equals,  could  do  more  good,  and  by  means  of  it 
had  changed  one  deemed  utterly  irreclaimable,  the  beard  gave 
offence  to  the  consistorial  body.  It  was  only  after  my  pastor 
adduced  the  evidence  of  a  physician,  that  the  toothache,  under 
which  he  had  always  suffered,  was  alleviated  by  means  of  the 
beard,  was  he  allowed  to  provide  for  his  own  health,  and  that 
only  within  bounds. 

"  I  not  only  instituted  courts  among  my  free  people,  but  gave 
them  the  right  to  choose  an  overseer  or  governor  immediately 
from  themselves,  as  they  pleased.  Their  self-respect  and  dig- 
nity have  been  aroused.  From  time  to  time  the  more  noted 
among  them  eat  at  my  table,  with  their  wives.  I  am  their 
equal.  Similarity  of  dress  begets  confidence,  without  diminish- 
ing respect.  Children  are  required  to  stand  up  before  older 
people,  and  uncover  their  heads,  but  not  to  uncover  before  their 
equals.  Every  manifestation  of  deceit  is  ranked  as  a  crime, 
no  less  than  theft.  The  people  judge  themselves  more  strictly 
than  I  did  formerly.  I  have  often  to  moderate  their  decisions. 
Our  schools  are  flourishing.  The  apter  boys  learn  the  history 
of  the  world,  a  knowledge  of  the  earth,  with  its  countries  and 
people,  geometry,  and  something  of  architecture.  In  the 
churches  we  have  already  choral  hymns  and  worship. 


FOOL  OF  THE  XIX  CENTURY. 


39 


"  But,  dear  Norbert,  better  that  thou  stay  est  one  week  with 
us,  and  see  for  thyself ;  or  canst  thou  not  while  away  a  few 
weeks?" 


THE  CONVERSATION  ON  THE  HEIGHTS  OF  FLYELN. 

Such  was  the  narration  of  Olivier. 

I  do  not  conceal  it,  that  all  that  he  had  said  to  me,  and  all  I  had 
seen  in  Flyeln,  made  a  great  impression  upon  me.  I  wondered 
at  his  perseverance,  and  his  benevolent  invention,  but  regretted 
that  his  plans  were  so  much  misrepresented. 

But  neither  the  persuasions  of  my  friend,  nor  the  seductive 
and  nattering  requests  of  the  baroness,  were  necessary  to  induce 
me  to  prolong  my  stay  in  this  lordly  oasis.  Yes,  I  must  call 
Flyeln  an  oasis,  a  blooming  island  in  the  waste  of  the  surround- 
ing country.  For  here,  as  soon  as  you  reach  the  spot,  if  you 
have  travelled  through  the  sometimes  sandy,  and  sometimes 
boggy  lands  of  the  vicinity,  or  through  the  pine  forests,  and  the 
poor,  muddy,  ordinary  villages,  with  their  barracks  and  neglected 
inhabitants, — the  ground  seems  suddenly  greener,  and  the  people 
more  humane.  Here,  too,  what  were  once  barracks,  have  be- 
come neat  cottages,  which  I  visited,  with  Amelia,  with  pleasure. 
Here,  also,  there  had  been  morasses,  now  only  recognized  from 
the  long  ditches  and  excavations,  filled  up  with  stones  and  cover- 
ed with  earth,  which  have,,  been  made  to  draw  off  the  water ; 
here,  too,  had  been  slaves,  who  were  accustomed  to  tremble 
before  their  overseers  and  officers,  and  to  cheat  them  behind  their 
backs,  but  who  have  now  the  upright  and  bold  bearing  of  freemen, 
looking  upon  the  Baron  as  an  equal, — and  with  a  childlike  reve- 
rence and  love  clinging  to  him  and  his  !  This  transformation, 
within  the  space  of  the  half  of  ten  years,  would  have  been  a 
veritable  wonder,  if  we  did  not  know  how  prudently  and  surely 
Olivier  went  to  work  ■  how  gradually  he  passed  from  the  charac- 
ter of  feudal  master  to  that  of,  first,  a  teacher,  and  then  a  father  ; 
how  his  peasants,  moved  only  by  the  fear  of  the  lash,  had  been 
allured  and  subdued  by  means  of  their  rude  self-interest  ;  how 
he  counted  neither  upon  their  thankfulness  nor  their  understand- 


40 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


ing,  nor  their  moral  or  religious  feeling,  but  from  the  outset,  dis- 
ciplined rather  than  instructed  them,  and  having  habituated  them 
to  doing  good,  relied  chiefly  upon  the  strength  of  habit,  and  the 
rising  generation.  Therefore,  he  and  the  baroness,  with  the  pastor 
and  the  school  teacher,  undertook  the  instruction  of  all ;  thence, 
also,  it  happened  that  the  assessors  of  the  judgment,  that  the 
overseers  of  the  community,  were  mostly  young  persons  from 
five-and-twenty  to  thirty  years  of  age ;  at  least  I  saw  none  of 
the  older  peasants  among  them. 

But  all  this  does  not  concern  us  here.  I  will  describe  the 
success  of  my  friend,  and  not  the  art  and  method  by  which  he 
tamed  his  dependants,  and  made  a  sterile  place  blooming. 

As  Olivier  exhibited  his  account-books,  and  showed  irrefu- 
tably that,  so  far  from  having  lost  by  the  reformation,  he  had 
gained  more  than  his  deceased  uncle  or  any  of  his  ancestors,  he 
said  to  me  laughing,  "  Now  thou  seest,  Norbert,  where  folly 
is  at  home,  whether  at  Flyeln  or  in  the  royal  residence  !  While 
I  am  actually  gaining  I  am  treated  as  a  spendthrift,  and  compel- 
led every  year  to  suffer  strangers,  whom  they  send  here  to  in- 
vestigate my  accounts,  to  look  into  the  intimacies  of  my  house- 
hold." 

"  Why  hast  thou  not  complained  of  this  ?  It  is  an  injustice — 
it  is  an  outrage." 

"  My  complaint  would  be  in  vain.  Not  justice,  but  the  mere 
command  of  the  cabinet,  sent  forth  by  the  ministry,  condemned 
me  to  this  position.  The  matter  is  not  easily  remedied  ;  for  the 
ministry  will  take  no  backstep  by  which  to  declare  themselves 
to  have  been  in  fault.  The  committee  of  investigation  would 
not  advise  it,  because  they  would  lose  the  delights  of  their 
annual  pleasure-visit  and  the  profit  of  their  daily  pay.  That  I 
have  been  confined  here,  in  the  estate  of  my  forefathers,  is  the 
most  endurable  thing  about  it.  Now,  Norbert,  what  thinkest 
thou  of  all  this?" 

"  I  confess,  Olivier,  I  came  with  prejudice  and  sorrow  to  thee  ; 
I  shall  quit  thee  with  the  most  pleasurable  remembrances. 
They  have  everywhere  spoken  of  thee  as  a  lunatic.  I  do  not 
think  thou  art,  but  I  concur  with  thy  former  guardian,  that  thou 
art  a  wonderfully  queer  fellow." 


FOOL  OF  THE  XIX.  CENTURY. 


41 


"  Queer  fellow  !  truly,  that  is  the  proper  name  for  all  those 
who  do  not  succumb  to  the  common-places  and  disorders  of  the 
age.  Diogenes  of  Sinope  was  regarded  as  a  fool  ;  Cato  the  Cen- 
sor was  considered  a  pedant  by  the  Romans  ;  Columbus  was 
pointed  at  as  a  crazy  man  in  the  streets  of  Madrid ;  Olavides 
was  condemned  to  the  Inquisition  ;  Rousseau  driven  from  his 
asylum  among  the  Bernese  ;  and  Pestalozzi  held  by  his  country- 
men as  more  than  half  a  fool,  because  he  associated  with  beg- 
gars and  dirty  children  rather  than  with  the  be-powdered  and  be- 
queued  world.  And  that  I  should  be  called  a  queer  fellow, — I 
that  presume  only  to  speak,  to  think,  and  to  act,  naturally  and 
intelligently — according  to  my  right  derived  from  God — is  it  not 
rather  a  reproach  to  ye  yourselves  t" 

"  No,  Olivier,  neither  a  reproach  against  the  world  nor  against 
you.  No  one  prevents  thee  from  acting  or  thinking  naturally 
or  reasonably  ;  but  thou  must  also  respect  the  right  of  others  to 
think,  to  speak,  and  to  act,  according  to  their  opinions,  customs, 
and  even  prejudices,  until  they  or  their  children  grow  wiser. 
All  men  can't  be  philosophers." 

"  Have  I  not  paid  them  proper  respect  ?  Have  I  trespassed 
upon  them  ?" 

"  Certainly,  friend,  if  thou  wilt  allow  me  to  say  so.  While 
thou  opposest  thy  own  customs  to  the  general  customs  of  the 
world,  thou  breakest  the  peace  with  those  among  whom  thou 
livest,  and  accomplishest  only  half  the  good  that  thou  mightest 
do, — if,  indeed,  the  half.  Christ  received  the  customs  of  Judea, 
let  himself  down  even  to  Judea's  prejudices,  in  order  to  work 
the  more  powerfully.  What  boots  a  mere  mode  of  address  ? 
What  matters  it  whether  we  wear  a  stiff  queue  or  shorn  pate,  a 
beard  or  a  smooth  chin  ?  Thou  knowest  the  meaning  of  sie  in 
German,  and  of  vous  in  French  ;  well,  I  grant,  it  is  silly  to 
speak  of  a  single  person  in  the  plural  number,  but  what  harm  is 
it,  after  all  ?  Did  not  the  old  Greeks  and  Romans  address  each 
other  in  the  plural  number  ?  Thou  knowest  the  meaning  of  you 
and  thou.  Dost  thou  not,  then,  take  the  offensive  part  when  re- 
jecting common  innocent  customs,  and  without  regard  to  former 
notions  of  civility,  thou  forcest  Thou  upon  everybody  1  Who- 


42 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


ever  fights  with  the  world  must  have  the  world  fighting  with  him. 
Canst  thou  wonder  at  it  then  ?" 

"  I  do  by  no  means  wonder  at  what  I  expect.  But  do  not 
adduce  the  example  of  Christ,  after  the  manner  of  those  who  con- 
ceal deceit  and  villainy,  with  a  pious  countenance,  behind  some 
distorted  version  of  the  Bible.  The  God-like  One  had  a  higher 
mission  among  his  contemporaries  than  I  have,  and  forbore  speak- 
ing of  small  follies ;  but  I  have  to  do  with  these  alone ;  and  I 
will  not  suffer  myself  to  be  constrained  to  praise,  excuse,  or 
practise  barbarisms.  There  is  surely  reason  enough  still  among 
the  inhabitants  of  earth  to  permit  one  to  make  use  of  his  right 
to  his  own  poor  understanding." 

"  Friend,"  I  replied,  "  it  appears  to  me,  they  have  not  made 
that  right  questionable  ;  but  the  free  use  of  that  right,  by  the  in- 
discreet communication  of  your  sentiments,  especially  if  they  are 
at  war  with  existing  arrangements,  is  likely  to  occasion  confu- 
sion. Thou  thyself,  at  the  outset  in  Flyeln,  didst  play  the  part 
of  a  severe  task-master  to  thy  slaves,  and  gradually,  not  sud- 
denly, enfranchised  them,  after  they  were  prepared  for  freedom. 
Thou  knowest  how  dangerous  it  is  to  put  in  the  unpractised  hands 
of  children,  a  knife,  which  in  skilful  hands  is  a  useful  instru- 
ment. What  wouldst  thou  have  said,  if  one  of  thy  slaves  had 
suddenly  spoken  the  truth  to  his  companions  concerning  the  fun- 
damental principles  of  human  nature,  the  barbarism  and  profli- 
gacy of  the  feudal  relation,  and  the  natural  equality  of  men  1 
Would  not  such  a  reformer  have  broken  up  all  thy  projects?" 

"  Certainly,  Norbert ;  but  the  example  is  not  applicable  to 
me  or  my  actions.  I  have  never  spoken  against  the  existing 
order,  even  when  it  was  bad,  though  I  have  rendered  unto  God 
the  things  which  were  God's,  and  unto  Caesar  the  things  which 
were  Caesar's.  I  have  spoken  only  against  existing  fooleries  and 
prejudices  ;  against  your  foreign  airs,  against  your  masque- 
rades and  hypocritical  compliments,  against  your  unnatural  in- 
dulgences, against  your  effeminate  disfiguration  of  yourselves 
by  foreign  fashions,  against  your  conceptions  of  honor  and  shame, 
of  worth  and  reward,  and  only  in  the  way  of  a  defence  for  my 
person,  when  ye  Europeans  would  urge  me  to  abandon  my  re- 


FOOL  OF  THE  XIX.  CENTURY. 


43 


turn  to  reason,  and  would  force  me,  in  order  to  be  pleased  with 
your  perversity,  to  desert  nature." 

"  But,  friend  Olivier,  thy  notions  of  standing  armies,  of  here- 
ditary nobility,  of  the  rights  of  subjugated  nations,  of  the  w 

"  Ah,  ha  !  Norbert,  these  sentiments  are  generally  recognized 
in  Europe,  but  as  yet  only  as  dead  truths.  They  are  spoken  of 
in  essays  and  theories,  but  not  in  practice.  I  have  nothing 
against  those  that  act  thus.  I  myself,  were  I  a  prince  or  minis- 
ter, unless  I  had  a  philosophical  people,  would  take  great  care 
how  I  attempted  to  organize  a  Plato's  Republic.  I  have  only 
uttered  my  opinions  in  the  company  of  my  friends  and  equals, 
and  not  preached  them  to  the  multitude  to  raise  a  revolution.  I 
have  done  what  millions  are  doing  at  this  time  both  in  writing 
and  speaking.  You  must  cut  off  half  the  heads  of  populous 
Europe  if  you  would  prevent  such  matters  from  being  thought 
of  and  talked  about." 

"  And  because  they  are  thought  and  spoken  of  by  one  half 
the  people,  they  must  soon  infuse  themselves  into  the  minds  of 
the  other  half.  As  soon  as  the  Majority  come  to  see  what  is 
right,  then  will  it  embody  itself  without  bloody  and  fearful  revo- 
lutions, of  its  own  accord,  and  in  the  natural  course  of  a  con- 
stantly improving  legislation.  But  to  tell  you  the  truth,  dear  Nor- 
bert, it  was  not  for  these  sentiments  that  they  pronounced  me  mad 
or  banished  me  from  the  rest  of  the  world.  No  one  would  have 
complained  if  I,  a  Baron,  had  merely  declaimed  against  the  injustice, 
folly  and  wickedness,  which  are  inseparable  from  the  institutions 
of  a  privileged  nobility — and  not  carried  my  opinions  into  prac- 
tice. All  would  have  gone  well  enough  if  I  had  married  a 
Countess.  But  because  I  acted  consistently,  although  no  one 
was  injured  by  my  conduct,  because  I  preferred  the  love  of  a 
nure  but  portionless  beggar  girl  to  the  prejudices  of  my  class, 
because  I  married  a  child  whom  I  had  rescued  from  infamy — 
that  was  my  crime.  Oh  !  Norbert,  just  look  at  Amy, — and  then 
at  my  ancestral  parchments — and  condemn  me  if  you  can  !" 

"  With  such  a  document  to  sustain  your  case,  dear  Olivier, 
thou  art  in  fact  a  most  persuasive  advocate.  Still  I  think  the 
Nobility  would  in  a  short  time  have  forgiven  thy  protests  against 
them,  and  regarded  thee  only  as  an  exception  among  them ;  for 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


thou  knowest  that  at  the  present  day  such  matters  are  regarded 
differently  from  what  they  once  were,  and  that  rank  is  no  longer 
what  " 

M  Dost  think  so  ?"  interrupted  the  Baron,  «*  then,  oh  my  dear 
friend,  thou  deceivest  thyself  in  regard  to  our  caste,  in  which 
not  only  physiognomies  but  privileges  and  prejudices  are  here- 
ditary, and  by  transmission  from  generation  to  generation  have 
become  ineradicable.  It  has  one  fixed  idea,  which  is  that  its 
members  are  by  birth  of  a  better  mould  than  the  rest  of  man- 
kind. Even  when  it  is  prostrated  by  Revolution,  this  one  fixed 
idea  manages  to  keep  the  upper  hand.  Didst  thou  not  see  the 
French  nobility  when  in  exile  ?  They  lost  none  of  their  haughti- 
ness, although  they  were  often  poor  enough  to  be  obliged  to 
mend  their  own  shoes  and  wash  their  own  clothes.  Look  again 
at  the  miserable  young  noblemen  of  France  !  What  are  they 
doing  ?  Why,  instead  of  submitting  to  their  fate,  they  raise  a 
terrible  clamor  because  they  must  needs  share  their  political 
privileges  with  common  low-born  citizens." 

"  Here,  my  dear  advocate,"  I  answered,  "  thou  art  falling  into 
a  little  bad  logic,  which,  however,  I  am  too  generous  to  expose. 
What  have  the  people  of  this  country  to  do  with  the  people  of 
that  country  ?  Because  the  wild  Indian  nobility  wear  rings  in 
their  noses,  is  that  a  reasonable  ground  of  accusation  against 
our  nobles.  But  let  us  drop  the  subject — understand  me,  I  wish 
to  reconcile  thee  to  the  world.  A  little  sacrifice  from  thee,  a 
little  compliance  with  unimportant  externals,  and  believe  me, 
they  would  forgive  thy  opinions,  and  even  thy  paradoxes." 

"  Thou  requirest  a  little  sacrifice  from  me !  thou  askest  as  a 
small  matter,  nothing  less  than  that  I  should  sacrifice  my  con- 
victions, my  principles,  and  all  consequent  duties !  But  if  I 
sacrifice  my  convictions  and  principles,  that  is,  my  whole  being, 
what  am  I  fit  for  in  the  world  ?    How  shall  I  do  good  ?" 

"  In  many  ways.  See  other  wise  men — they  accomplish  un- 
speakable good  without  quarrelling  with  the  world.  Wherefore 
canst  not  thou  ?  What  canst  thou  do  now,  by  thy  single  exam- 
ple, standing  all  alone,  when  all  thy  neighbors  are  convinced 
and  believe,  that  thy  understanding  is  a  little  shattered." 

"  The  question  deserves  an  answer,  for  of  all  thy  questions  it 


FOOL  OF  THE  XIX.  CENTURY. 


45 


is  the  most  important.  First,  consider  my  right  as  a  man,  that 
within  my  own  house,  on  my  own  grounds,  according  to  my  own 
better  convictions,  I  ought  to  be  allowed  to  eat,  drink,  dress, 
speak  and  act  as  I  please,  if  I  trespass  upon  no  other's  right. 
And  since  I  find  the  follies,  the  impertinences,  the  artifices,  and 
affectations,  of  modern  European  human  nature,  which  have 
been  culled  out  of  the  refuse  of  ancient  barbarisms,  ludicrous, 
shameful,  unnatural  and  mean, — why  should  I,  with  all  my 
sense  of  duty,  with  my  obligations  to  truth  and  justice,  not  make 
use  of  my  right  ?  Should  the  sailor,  whom  the  wild  Indians 
invite  to  a  banquet  of  human  flesh,  overcome  his  horror  and 
adopt  their  terrible  customs,  lest  the  Indians  laugh  at  him  ?  So 
much,  Norbert,  as  to  what  immediately  and  only  concerns  my- 
self." 

Here  Olivier  remained  silent  as  if  awaiting  an  answer,  but 
soon  continued.  "  Besides,  Norbert,  recall  the  Fragment  from 
the  Voyage  of  Pythias,  and  thy  own  confession  as  to  the  truth 
which  merely  seems  to  hit,  and  that  which  actually  strikes.  Thou 
thyself  hast  granted  that  human  society  has  departed  very  far 
from  the  dictates  of  nature.  Ye  all  acknowledge  that  there  is 
infinitely  too  much  suffering ;  for  the  violations  of  the  eternal 
laws  of  God  carry  with  them  the  punishment  of  the  transgressor. 
None  of  ye  will  deny,  that  your  whole  civil  and  domestic 
economy,  your  constitution,  customs,  and  manner  of  life,  are  at 
best  but  a  protracted  rebellion  against  nature.  But  which  of 
you  has  heroism  of  soul  enough  to  return  to  the  simple,  eternal 
order  of  God  ?  In  this  ye  all  fail ;  but  to  me,  it  is  nothing  new. 
It  is  well  that,  some  individual,  undisturbed  by  the  conceit  and 
derision  of  the  great  horde,  should  bring  back  an  example  of 
goodness  and  justice.  It  is  well,  that  some  individual,  who  will 
not  capitulate  or  make  terms  with  the  follies  of  the  age,  should 
stand  out,  not  to  minister  to  your  madness,  but  to  make  open  war 
upon  it.  For,  by  means  of  the  simple  teaching  of  the  church, 
the  cathedral,  and  the  theatre,  by  means  of  philosophy,  by  the 
abstract  eulogy  of  unaided  naturalness  and  truth,  nothing  is 
done.  For  ye  talk,  philosophize,  and  write  for  ever,  and  your 
teachers  remain  for  ever  the  same,  and  your  learners  do  not  be- 
come anything  more  than  learners.    Therefore  it  is  well  that 


46 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


some  individual  should  step  forth  as  a  model  for  your  better 
instruction  in  the  realities  of  life.  True,  in  the  beginning  they 
will  rate  him  as  a  crazy  man,  and  abuse  and  mock  him ;  but 
gradually  the  eyes  of  his  contemporaries  will  be  accustomed  to 
the  strange  appearance.  Bye  and  bye,  it  is  whispered  'that 
the  man  is  not  so  far  out  of  the  way.'  And  at  last  the  boldest 
begin  shyly  to  follow  him  in  particular  things.  Ah !  Norbert, 
whoever  can  bring  back  humanity,  or  a  small  part  of  humanity, 
one  single  step  toward  Nature,  has  done  as  much  as  the  fleetness 
of  life  permits.  And  so,  dear  friend,  let  me  admonish  thee,  that 
many  are  accustomed  to  decry  one  who  does  right,  because  he 
has,  and  they  have  not,  the  courage  to  do  right.  Because  I  eat 
and  drink,  without  luxury,  banishing  all  foreign  superfluity; 
because  I  dress  myself  in  a  way  at  once  comfortable  and  pleas- 
ing to  the  eye  j  because  I  reinstate  the  manly  beard  in  its  lost 
honor;  because  I  withstand  the  privileges  and  prejudices  of  my 
class,  and  would  pass  for  no  more  than  I  am  worth ;  because  I 
believe  that  I  have  not  stained  myself  by  marriage  with  a  maiden 
of  lower  and  unhonorable  descent ;  because  I  will  not  establish 
my  character  by  a  duel,  or  bear  about  the  insignia  of  real  or 
feigned  services,  as  a  show  upon  my  breast ;  because  I  make  my 
slaves  my  free  companions  and  friends ;  because  I  forswear 
deceit,  and  assert  the  truth  without  fear ;  therefore  am  I  treated 
in  the  Nineteenth  Century  as  a  Fool.  Yet  I  live  according 
to  Reason,  have  transgressed  no  institution  or  law,  have  injured 
nobody,  and  while  doing  good  to  many,  violated  no  single  prin- 
ciple of  morality  or  decorum.  Here,  Norbert,  thou  hast  my 
answer  to  thy  question.    Now  let  us  cease  this  parley." 

He  broke  off ;  I  embraced  the  noble  but  eccentric  man,  and 
laughing  said,  "We  have  an  old-fashioned  saying — 'the  sharp 
tool  is  easily  notched." ' 

After  some  days  I  left  him.  The  remembrance  of  Flyeln  be- 
longs to  the  most  agreeable  of  my  life.  Nor  will  I  conceal,  that 
if  the  whole  world  should  fall  into  the  phrenzy  of  my  Olivier,  I 
should  be  the  first  among  the  frantic.  We  have  since  then 
resumed  our  correspondence,  and  I  have  vowed,  from  time  tc 
.ime,  to  make  another  pilgrimage  to  happy  Flyeln. 


HARMONIUS. 


HARMONIUS. 


49 


;..c;',.).. -'V 

HARMONIUS. 


i. 

We  often  sat  together,  in  the  spring,  in  the  garden  of  Har- 
monius.  Never  have  I  seen  a  man  who  lived  more  purely  and 
inwardly ;  never  one  whose  love  was  more  worthy  of  the  ten- 
derest  return. 

As  an  old  man  of  seventy  years,  he  was  still  the  same  glad, 
quiet,  contented,  guiltless  person  which  he  had  been  as  a  child  of 
seven.  Still  with  the  same  heartiness  he  inclined  towards  all 
that  was  good  and  true,  as  in  the  days  of  his  boyhood.  He 
carried  the  fresh  spring-heaven  of  childhood  with  him  through 
the  hot  age  of  summer,  down  to  the  cool  winter  of  life.  Time, 
indeed,  touched  the  outer  shell  of  his  spirit,  and  colored  and 
bleached  it :  but  on  his  inner  life  the  destroying  finger  rested 
not. 

Still,  as  ever  to  him  was  the  immeasurable  world  the  great, 
sacred  dwelling-house  of  God  and  of  His  children  :  and  the  earth 
but  a  school  apartment  in  this  house ;  our  life-time  a  bright, 
laborious  hour  of  study.  He  believed  not  in  crime  and  crimi- 
nals, but  only  in  error  and  erring  ones;  he  believed  in  suffering 
only  as  the  step  to  happiness. 

"  Man  must  live  in  himself,  not  out  of  himself,"  he  often 
said.  "  We  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  outward,  but  only  with 
the  inward.  The  outer  world  belongs  to  us  only  so  far  as  it 
mirrors  in  our  souls  its  colors  and  forms  through  the  camera 
obscura  of  sense.  Man  is  spirit ;  he  lives  not  by  intercourse  with 
bodies  and  dead  forms,  but  with  souls.  But  our  souls  are  related 
5 


50 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


to  one  another,  and  are  all  sisters.  Even  the  dumb  animals  we 
should  love,  for  we  have  no  reason  to  doubt  that  they  have  souls  : 
these  are,  as  it  were,  younger  brothers  and  sisters." 

Before  the  interwoven  arbor  of  climbing  honey-suckles,  in  the 
garden  of  Harmonius,  stood  a  group  of  marble  figures.  A  young 
and  beautiful  woman  leaned  upon  an  urn.  A  bird  sat  resting 
upon  the  urn  near  her ;  a  little  dog  lay  sleeping  at  her  feet. 

On  the  pedestal  stood  the  words — Love  Imperishable  under 
all  forms. 

When  we  were  together  in  the  garden  of  Harmonius  for  the 
first  time,  and  saw  that  group,  and  read  those  words,  we  thought 
we  discovered  the  key  to  their  meaning,  when  Harmonius  said 
that  the  female  figure  was  dedicated  to  the  memory  of  his  wife, 
who  died  many  years  since,  in  the  bloom  of  life.  The  dog 
seemed  to  us  a  symbol  of  Fidelity,  and  the  bird  upon  the  urn 
an  image  of  the  Soul,  which  wings  its  way  above  this  earthly 
dust  towards  better  worlds. 

When  we  soon  afterwards  stepped  into  his  house,  we  observed 
upon  the  wall,  among  other  pictures,  one  which  was  larger  than 
the  rest.  We  saw  here  the  same  young  woman,  clothed  in  in- 
expressible beauty,  and  near  her,  upon  a  green  bough,  a  bird, 
whose  feathers  showed  that  it  was  a  gold- finch  ;  a  little  brown  dog, 
snoAV-white  upon  his  paws  and  under  his  neck,  lay  couched  at 
the  young  woman's  feet.  The  eyes  of  these  three  beings  were 
so  arranged  by  the  art  of  the  painter,  that  we  seemed  to  be  seen 
by  them  all  at  the  same  time. 

In  the  study  apartment  of  Harmonius,  which  was  the  most 
beautiful  in  the  whole  house,  with  an  extensive  view  over  the 
surrounding  country,  we  saw  the  same  thing  again,  under  other 
relations. 

Three  portraits  hung  together,  wreathed  about  with  a  flowery 
chain  of  evergreens  and  forget-me-nots.  The  first  represented  a 
similar  bird  to  the  one  we  had  before  seen ;  the  second,  the  same 
brown  dog,  but  as  full  grown  ;  the  third  the  wife  of  Harmonius. 
Beneath  the  pictures,  in  golden  letters,  upon  a  sky-colored  ground, 
were  the  words  :  Love  Imperishable  under  all  forms. 

In  other  apartments  of  our  venerable  friend,  we  saw  other 
pictures  still,  but  all  of  these  had  ever  the  same  text. 


HARMONIUS. 


51 


II. 

One  Sunday  evening,  though  it  was  quite  late,  we  were  assem- 
bled around  the  old  man  before  the  garden-house.  Night  kindled 
above  us  her  thousand  suns.  The  moon  rent  the  veil  of  clouds, 
and  her  spiritual  silver  fell  down  upon  us,  with  the  blossoms  of 
the  hanging  apple-tree,  like  elysian  rain. 

In  the  deep  stillness,  scarcely  broken  by  the  sighing  of  the 
evening  breeze  through  the  blooming  shrubbery,  our  souls  sank 
into  a  profound  and  earnest  mood. 

"  Such  evenings  are  a  festal  summons  to  the  human  heart ; — 
are  peculiar  reflexes  from  other  worlds  ; — are  like  evanescent 
summers  from  the  fields  of  yonder  life."  So  spoke  one  of  our 
company  who  sat  next  to  the  old  man. 

Harmonius  withdrew  his  eyes  from  the  stars,  and  said  : 
"  Thou  art  a  happy  man,  and  I  am  happy  with  thee,  since  I 
prize  the  Evening  as  thou  dost.  Truly,  truly,  dear  friends, 
the  world  is  to  us  what  we  are  to  it.  It  does  not  make  us 
happy  or  unhappy,  but  we  make  it  happy  or  unhappy.  He 
who  believes  in  Virtue,  has  Virtue ;  he  who  believes  in  no  God, 
for  him  there  is  no  God.  Since,  then,  we  are,  as  it  were,  crea- 
tors of  our  own  world,  let  us  continue  to  be  good  creators." 

Then  one  of  us  said  :  "Yet  I  have  found  but  few  men  who 
considered  themselves  entirely  happy.  Shall  I  believe  that  they 
were  not  sufficiently  virtuous  and  pure  ?" 

"I  will  not  sit  in  judgment  upon  the  heart  of  man!"  an- 
swered Harmonius.  "  The  pupil  in  painting  knows  not  the 
value  of  shadows ;  he  will  either  banish  them  altogether,  or 
put  in  too  much  of  them.  Even  so  the  half-developed  man 
knows  not  the  value  of  deprivation.  He  will  abstain  from 
nothing.  Man,  too,  envies  not  the  happiness  of  another,  near  so 
much  as  his  means  of  happiness.  Each  one  has  in  his  propor- 
tion an  equal  right  and  a  like  power  to  sleep  on  a  hard  or  a  soft 
bed." 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  if  every  one  shares  the  same  right  and  the 
same  power,  all  have  not  received  the  same  insight  to  find 
out  the  highest  good.    Thou  knowest,  Harmonius,  how  many 


52 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


theories  of  happiness  our  philosophers  have  written,  and  how 
they  have  contended  against  each  other." 

Harmonius  answered  me  :  "  He  who  seeks  out  of  himself 
what  is  to  be  found  in  himself,  will  seek  forever  and  find  nothing. 
We  have  all  received  one  good  teacher,  we  in  Europe,  as  well  a.s 
our  brothers  in  Indus  and  Mississippi,  that  is  Nature — Nature 
with  her  legislation.  He  who  lives  within  this,  has  peace  ;  he  who 
once  despises  her  laws,  loses  the  rose,  feels  only  its  thorn,  and 
wounds  himself.  Pain  is  the  best  cure  for  error.  Why  does 
man  invent  stupefying  preventives  against  instructive  pain  ? 
These  means  are  unnatural,  and  create  fresh  wounds.  And  so 
we  wander  ever  farther  from  Nature,  and  bewail  these,  instead 
of  ourselves.  We  have  fabricated  for  ourselves  a  host  of 
sciences  and  systems,  which  were  not  necessary  for  our  happi- 
ness. Sciences  have  not  made  man  miserable  ;  but  misery  has 
made  sciences." 


III. 

When  Harmonius  had  thus  spoken,  a  deep  silence  arose 
among  us,  and  each  one  reflected  upon  his  words. 

Near  me  sat  Vitalis,  who  seemed  deeply  bowed  down,  and 
sighed  softly  as  he  looked  up  to  the  sky. 

"  Many  men  have  freely  left  the  firm  land,"  he  said,  "  and 
thrown  themselves  into  a  frail  bark.  Even  I  am  one  of  these 
wanderers.  But  why  is  the  island  so  small  on  which  Destiny 
casts  us  ?  Why  is  our  desire  of  knowledge  so  great,  that  we 
do  not  enjoy  what  we  have  1  Why  are  we  still  so  eager  to 
discover  what  lies  outside  of  our  island  of  life  ?  Why  are  the 
fairest  and  most  desirable  objects  veiled  impenetrably  ?  Why 
must  we  be  most  uncertain  about  that  which  it  is  most  important 
to  know  ?" 

"Why,  why,"  replied  Harmonius,  " 1  cannot  answer,  since  I 
am  not  thy  Creator,  but  His  child  as  thou  art.    But  is  then  our 


HARMONIUS. 


58 


desire  for  knowledge  really  too  great  for  the  circumference  of 
our  life-island  ?  Is  this  really  too  poor  for  the  nourishment  of  our 
spirit,  so  that  we  must  seek  another  island  ?  O  truly  thou  didst 
not  mean  to  think  and  say  this.  Thou  art  convinced  as  I  am 
that  this  present  world  is  too  rich  in  materials  for  our  spirit ;  that 
our  stay  in  it  is  too  short  for  us  to  enjoy  more  than  a  small  part  of 
it  in  the  most  hasty  way.  See,  I  number  seventy  years,  and  men 
call  me  an  old  man,  and  will  remember  me  by  that  title  when  I 
in  a  little  while  shall  have  departed  hence ;  but  my  spirit  is  still 
undeveloped,  my  thirst  not  yet  quenched ;  I  have  learned  daily 
and  am  a  scholar  in  my  seventieth  year.  Thou  scarcely  num- 
berest  twenty-one  ! 

"  The  desire  of  learning  and  knowledge  may  gormandize  here 
below  to  excess,  and  we  shall  never  exhaust  the  store  held  out 
to  us.  But  what  thou  callest  desire  of  knowledge,  I  call  curios- 
ity, and  curiosity  is  disease.  It  will  not  enjoy,  but  sip ;  not  in- 
vestigate, but  flutter  about  from  novelty  to  novelty.  Curiosity 
never  has  enough,  just  as  the  whole  vault  of  heaven  does  not  fur- 
nish air  enough  for  the  asthmatic  patient.    It  is  a  moral  asthma. 

"  Thou  hast  now  thrown  thyself  into  a  fragile  bark,  and  art 
sailing  about  to  discover  the  unknown  country.  What  hast  thou 
found  ?  What  more  dost  thou  know  now,  than  thou  didst  be- 
fore thou  left  the  shore  ?  Wouldst  thou  make  discoveries  con- 
cerning the  true  home  of  spirits ;  concerning  the  World  from 
which  the  hour  of  death  separates  us?  O  my  friend,  thou  wouldst 
feel  the  magic  of  music,  without  an  ear  for  it,  and  gaze  into 
Elysium,  without  eyes. 

"  Come  home  then  after  thy  fruitless  search  ; — fruitless,  not 
really  because  there  is  no  other  country  to  be  found  beyond 
the  island  of  life,  but  because  thy  boat  was  too  frail.  Or  wilt 
thou,  blind  one,  persist  in  denying  the  beautiful  colors  of  spring, 
because  thy  sight  is  wanting  ? 

"  Come  home.  Take  the  divine  medicine,  as  my  motto  pre- 
scribes it  for  thee  :  Faith,  Love,  Hope,  and  Patience" 

"  But  what  shall  we  believe  ?"  asked  several  of  us  at  once. 

Harmonius  smiled,  and  looked  at  us  awhile  in  silence.  Then 
he  began  again :  "  How  childishly  you  ask !  Or  would  you 
try  me  ?    Believe  whatever  Reason  bids  you,  and  your  Heart 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


advises  you.  No  Belief  can  be  prescribed  or  inoculated.  It  is 
another  thing  with  principles  of  Reason,  which  only  need  to  be 
announced  in  order  to  be  received  and  approved  by  every  one. 
For  the  law  of  the  Reason  is  alike  in  all  men.  But  it  is  other- 
wise with  Belief.  It  is  not  shared,  nor  received.  It  is  a  spiritu- 
al, flower,  springing  from  the  constitution,  education,  strength, 
weakness  and  necessities  of  the  soul.  Therefore  it  is  different 
in  all  men.  That  of  a  Kamschatkan  is  as  little  to  be  measured 
by  me,  as  mine  by  him.  Belief  is  a  blossom  of  the  soul :  in  the 
blossom  thou  knovvest  the  tree.  Destroy  not  the  blossom  with  a 
rough  hand,  if  it  displeases  thee  in  another  person,  for  thou  wilt 
be  in  danger  of  making  the  whole  tree  fruitless.  But  if  thou  wilt 
do  good,  then  honor  the  root  of  the  tree,  give  it  better  soil,  finer 
nourishment.    Ennoble  the  soul,  so  will  it  ennoble  its  own  faith. 

"  But  I,"  continued  Harmonius,  and  he  raised  his  hands  through 
the  moonbeams  and  blossoms,  "  but  I  believe  in  thee,  Eternal, 
Unknown,  Nameless  One !  I  believe  in  the  sacred  world  of  spi- 
rits, wherein  reward  and  blessedness  reign  :  I  believe  in  the  im- 
perishableness  of  our  Love  in  all  its  forms  !" 

When  Harmonius  had  spoken  these  last  words,  his  looks  were 
turned  from  the  sky  and  rested  upon  the  marble  image  before  the 
arbor. 


IV. 

"  O  Harmonius,  how  happy  am  I  to  be  of  thy  faith  !"  I 
exclaimed.  "  But  the  sense  of  thy  last  words  I  have  not  precisely 
understood.  I  beg  of  thee,  if  thou  wilt,  to  make  them  clearer 
to  me." 

"  And  if  I  should  do  it,"  said  he,  "  would  not  my  Belief  ap- 
pear to  you  like  a  mere  dream  ?  But  my  Belief  is  the  fruit  of 
my  life,  as  it  is  with  all  mortals.  And  as  my  life  is  not  yours, 
so  my  Belief  cannot  be  yours.  But  if  you  send  a  deeper  gaze 
into  your  own  being,  and  that  of  the  divine  All  of  things,  my 
Belief  will  of  itself  strike  you  as  it  did  the  Ancients,  the  Indians 
and  the  old  Greeks,  and  you  will  love  it  as  Pythagoras  and  Plato 
did. 


HARMONIUS. 


55 


"  But  before  I  knew  Pythagoras  and  Plato,  that  which  those 
divine  men  believed,  had  already  bloomed  forth  from  my  own 
life.  Therefore  I  must  draw  out  some  individual  threads  from 
the  web  of  my  destiny.  I  will  relate  to  you,  if  you  are  not  weary 
of  listening  to  me,  a  few  passages  from  my  history. 

"  I  can  in  recollection  still  look  far  back  through  this  termi- 
nated path  of  seventy  years.  Yet  in  the  farthest  distance,  the 
objects  begin,  like  clouds,  to  fade  away  and  grow  uncertain.  I 
recognize  still  in  dubious  forms  the  revered  figure  of  my  father. 
My  mother  I  never  beheld.  She  died  a  year  after  my  birth. 
He  six  years  later.  I  was  an  orphan,  and  delivered  into  the 
hands  of  strangers. 

"  To  be  an  orphan  was  to  me  a  hard  lot :  but  only  hard  to  me 
at  that  time,  because  I  was  not  like  my  playmates.  I  had  no 
father  to  teach  me,  no  mother  to  press  me  to  her  bosom.  This 
deprivation  made  my  heart  continually  sore.  I  wept  silently 
for  myself:  I  lost  myself  with  unspeakable  pleasure  in  the  little 
Paradise  of  my  past  life  :  each  feeling  in  me  formed  itself  into 
tenderness. 

"  Of  all  whom  I  knew,  no  one  loved  me.  Yet  I  was  not  hated. 
I  was  lonely.  They  called  me  a  dreamer.  My  playmates  I 
little  valued.  In  the  Summer  I  wished  for  Winter,  because  its 
solitude  seemed  consoling  to  me  :  in  the  Winter  I  called  upon  the 
Spring,  that  I  might  find  my  playmates. 

"  When  I  was  twelve  years  old,  on  the  very  morning  of  my 
birthday,  I  lay  under  the  high  pear-tree  in  my  father's  garden : 
I  was  half  asleep.  Yet  I  tormented  my  heart  with  longing  dreams. 
Tears  gushed  through  my  closed  eyelids.  I  looked  up  and  gazed 
through  my  tears,  and  through  the  green  wilderness  of  branches, 
at  the  sky.  '  I  am  alone  in  the  whole  world.  No  one  knows  me !' 
I  sighed  ;  *  No  one  may  love  me.  And  yet  I  am  not  wicked.  Is 
nothing  then  related  to  me  ?    Has  nothing  yet  loved  me  V 

"  Then  I  shut  my  eyes.  Tears  flowed  down  my  cheeks.  I 
longed  to  die. 

"  At  this  moment  I  felt  that  a  little  bird  seated  itself  upon  my 
chin,  and  with  his  bill  picked  toyingly  against  my  lips.  I  was 
frightened,  and  as  I  opened  my  eyes,  the  little  thing  flew  away. 


5G 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


"  I  raised  myself.  The  bird  sat  in  the  tree  above  me,  and 
seemed  to  look  at  me  attentively. 

"  O,  what  would  I  have  given  to  possess  him  !  I  enticed  and 
allured  him,  but  in  vain.  He  did  not  fly  away,  but  came  no 
nearer.  I  searched  for  all  the  crumbs  in  my  pocket,  and  scat- 
tered  them  about.  Then  he  flew  timidly  down,  ate  a  few,  and 
looked  at  me  as  if  he  would  thank  me.  But  at  my  slightest 
motion,  he  flew  away. 

O  little  bird,  dear  little  bird,'  I  cried,  and,  weeping,  stretched 
my  arm  up  to  the  tree,  into  which  he  had  flown,  '  I  am  not  one 
to  be  feared ;  I  will  love  thee  and  feed  thee,  and  nobody  shall 
do  thee  any  harm.' 

"  So  I  called,  well  as  1  knew  that  the  little  creature  could  not 
understand  my  entreaty.  Yet,  as  if  he  had  understood  me,  he 
looked  at  me,  hopped  from  one  bough  to  another — looked  at  me 
— and  flew  down  from  the  tree,  and  lit  upon  my  arm. 

"  How  shall  I  describe  my  delight  ?  It  is  impossible.  Man's 
joys  are  even  greater  than  his  sorrows.  For  beneath  those  he 
forgets  himself :  but  with  these  he  still  retains  enough  of  self  to 
commiserate  or  to  admire  himself.  Therefore  have  we  so  short 
a  memory  of  our  joys,  and  so  long  an  one  of  our  sufferings. 

"I  showed  to  all  my  house-mates  my  beautiful  captive: — I  could 
not  call  it  a  captive.  The  little  creature  had  given  itself  to  me. 
I  carried  it  to  my  chamber.  There  I  kissed  it  a  thousand  times  ; 
there  I  fed  it ;  there  I  let  it  flutter  freely  around  me. 

"  I  was  as  in  heaven.  I  was  more  industrious  at  school ;  more 
agreeable  at  home  ;  more  gay  among  my  playmates.  Every 
one  came,  and  wondered  at  my  bird  and  its  fearlessness ;  its 
love  and  its  fidelity  towards  me. 

"  Every  morning  my  little  friend  awoke  me  with  his  song.  When 
I  left  my  bed,  then  he  flew  to  me,  and  received  his  grain  from 
my  hand.  I  seated  myself  to  prepare  for  school  ;  he  hopped  so- 
ciably upon  my  table,  upon  my  shoulder,  and  around  the  chamber. 

"Even  with  the  window  open,  the  little  favorite  remained  true  to 
me.    He  flew  out  sometimes,  and  came  chirping  back  again. 

"  Smile  not  that  I  take  so  much  pleasure  in  relating  this  trifling 
circumstance.    It  belongs  to  the  brightest  dreams  of  my  seven- 


HARMONIUS. 


57 


tieth  year,  when  the  god  of  sleep  sweetly  mirrors  back  to  me 
those  scenes  of  childhood. 

"  The  little  creature  died,  after  a  year  and  a  half  of  fidelity 
and  friendship.  For  some  days  before  its  death  it  lost  its  ac- 
customed sprightliness.  It  fluttered  around  no  longer,  but  sat 
sorrowfully  in  its  place,  or,  at  most,  upon  my  shoulder*  At  last 
it  became  so  weak  that  it  could  not  even  reach  that.  I  held  it 
in  my  hand.  I  carried  it  in  my  bosom.  When  I  wept,  and 
held  it  caressingly  before  me,  it  looked  at  me  with  its  little  eyes, 
as  though  it  felt  the  nearness  of  its  departure  ;  as  though  it 
would  thank  me  for  my  love  and  for  my  tears.  Then  it  hid  its 
little  head  under  its  wing,  as  in  sleep. 

"  On  its  last  evening,  I  carried  it  into  its  corner,  to  its  freshly 
broken  twigs.    I  wept  aloud,  and  kissed  it  a  thousand  times. 

"  I  went  to  bed,  but  turned  back  again  and  again,  to  see  it  once 
more.  And  as  often  as  I  came,  it  hopped  from  the  lower  twig 
towards  me  upon  the  floor,  so  weak  was  it — as  though  it  was 
conscious  of  the  approaching  separation — as  though,  for  the  last 
time,  it  would  caress  me,  for  the  last  time  see  me  and  thank  me. 
I  fell  asleep  quite  late  with  tears  in  my  eyes. 

"  In  the  morning  it  lay  dead  on  the  floor.  It  lay  before  my  bed  : 
it  had  left  its  little  place  in  the  night,  and  had  come  to  die 
near  me. 

"  O  thou  dear  faithful  little  creature,  thou  dumb  angel  of  my 
childhood !  why  wast  thou  obliged  to  depart  so  soon  ? 

"  Spare  me  the  picture  of  my  sorrow  over  the  bird.  I  buried 
him,  sobbing,  under  the  same  pear-tree  where  I  first  found  him. 
So  buried  I  my  bright  dream  of  a  year  and  a  half,  and  all  the 
joys  of  my  childhood.'' 


V. 

After  a  brief  silence.  Harmonius  began  again:  "He  who 
loves  aright,  loves  with  fidelity.  Fidelity  is  the  breath  of  Love. 
He  who  loves  without  this,  goes  alone  through  the  world,  and 
only  makes  a  few  transient  travelling  acquaintances." 


58 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


"  Dost  thou  think,  Harmonius,"  said  he  who  sat  by  the  old 
man's  side,  "  that  we  preserve  our  fidelity  even  in  death  ? — that 
even  after  the  decay  of  our  bodies,  we  may  still  love  our  friends  ? 
But  what  avails  even  this  love,  if  it  is  only  for  a  few  earthly 
minutes  ?  The  loss  of  all  consciousness  in  the  grave  would  be 
a  more  enviable  gift  of  Nature  than  the  flame  of  love  within  us, 
without  an  eternity  for  its  manifestation." 

"  Thy  inquiry,"  answered  the  venerable  man,  "goes  into  a 
land  to  which  our  sight  cannot  reach.  But  I  can  ask  again, 
dost  thou  think  that  we  are  living  here  upon  earth  for  the  first 
time  ?  that  we  love  now  for  the  first  time  ?" 

"Where  should  we  have  lived  before — where  and  whom  should 
we  have  loved  ?  What  good  do  life  and  love  do  me,  which 
exist  for  me  no  longer  ?  What  avails  me  the  most  beautiful 
dream  of  a  summer  night,  which  I  forget  when  I  open  my  eyes  ?" 
Thus  I  spoke. 

Harmonius  pressed  my  hand.  "  No,  my  friend,"  said  he, 
u  not  thus  should  we  ask.  These  questions  we  might  ask  a 
thousand  times,  and  about  a  thousand  things  around  us,  the 
object  of  which  is  concealed  from  us.  But  I  know  and  believe, 
that  one  day  the  great  Darkness  will  become  light,  for  we  are 
from  God,  and  therefore  have  a  Divine  existence.  But  God  is 
Light  in  Himself.  We  ourselves  are  not  God,  but  God's ;  are 
therefore  eternal,  as  He  himself,  and  as  All  is,  for  as  there  is  but 
One,  and  this  One  is  God,  and  nothing  is  out  of  Him,  so  all  is  in 
him,  and  belongs  to  Him.  Could  anything  be  possible  out  of 
God,  then  there  would  be  two  Gods,  two  Original,  Uncreated 
Beings,  who  would  limit  each  other.  But  God  cannot  be  any- 
thing limited  or  finite,  else  He  were  not  God." 

"  But,  Harmonius,"  I  exclaimed  in  amazement,  "  All  is  God  ! 
How  sayest  thou  ?    Nature,  the  world,  the  dust,  is  all  God  !" 

"Dear  friend,"  answered  the  old  man,  "not  nature,  not  the 
world,  not  the  dust  is  God,  but  All.  But  dost  thou  know  the 
infinite  All  ? — dost  thou  know  even  the  smallest  part  thereof, 
extending  from  earth  up  to  the  pale  light  of  the  nebulous  stars, 
whose  distances  human  computation  and  measurement  fail  to 
tell  ?  Not  one  of  the  million  globules  of  blood  in  thy  veins  is  the 
man,  but  the  whole  is  the  man." 


HARMONIUS. 


59 


"  Thou  sayest,  Harmonius,  there  can  be  nothing  out  of  God 
which  limits  him  to  the  Finite.    Is  the  Finite  also  in  God  ?" 

f  And  where  else  should  it  be,  if  it  is  impossible  that  the  Finite 
can  be  out  of  Him,  and  consequently  limit  him  ?  Are  not  the 
thoughts  of  thy  everlasting  Spirit  also  in  thee  ?  Are  not  they  also 
changeable  and  finite  ?  Art  thou,  on  account  of  their  change- 
ableness,  any  the  less  enduring  and  endless?  No,  my  friend. 
So  is  All  in  God,  even  the  so-called  Finite.  But  do  not  err  !  the 
Finite  is  in  God  himself ;  and  thy  coming  and  going  thoughts, 
thy  changing  ideas  belong  to  thee  and  are  in  thee :  but  they  of 
themselves  are  in  no  wise  thy  Spirit,  thy  Whole." 

"  And  thou  vvouldst  not,  then,  Harmonius,  separate  Nature  and 
the  World  from  God  ?  not  distinguish  the  Created  from  the 
Uncreated,  the  Creature  from  the  Creator,  the  Finite  from  the 
Infinite,  the  Material  from  the  Spiritual  ?" 

"  Why  should  I  not  ?"  answered  the  old  man ;  "  I  do  it  in 
order  that  I  may  distinguish  according  to  human  modes  of  thought, 
that  I  may  speak  as  a  man  in  this  poor  human  language.  But 
what,  then,  is  Matter — what  is  Spirit  ?  As  All  is  Spirit,  All  is 
Power.  We  name  material,  or  matter,  only  the  operation  upon 
us  of  those  concealed  forces,  which  place  themselves  in  union 
with  our  spirit  by  means  of  the  senses.  The  external  manifesta- 
tions of  these  forces,  which  are  perceivable  by  the  senses,  these, 
and  nothing  else,  we  call  matter  and  material,  without  com- 
prehending what  the  actual  forces  are,  or  what  their  operation 
may  be,  and  how  it  takes  place.  These  are  childish,  human 
signs,  mere  words.  What,  then,  is  Finite  and  Infinite  ?  They 
are  poor  words  and  symbols,  and  nothing  more.  For  All  is  Infinite : 
only  the  change  of  activity  of  the  Infinite,  this  change  we  call 
finite,  though  it  is  still  something  infinite.  We  have  borrowed 
the  unwieldy  auxiliary  words,  temporal,  transient,  mortal,  finite, 
and  more  like  them,  only  from  the  change  of  activity  in  those 
forces,  which,  through  eye,  ear,  touch,  &c,  stand  in  connection 
with  our  eternal  force,  the  Spirit.  But  the  forces  themselves 
are  ever  working  on,  and  are  not  perishable.  What,  then,  is 
created  and  uncreated  ?  These  are  bare  words  and  nothing 
more,  which  childish  man  has  borrowed  from  the  works  of  his 
hands.    He  imagines  that  he  can  create,  if  he  operates  upon  the 


60 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


ever-existing  forces  ;  if  he  arranges  differently,  or  even  to  a 
different  end,  that  which  is  already  there.  Thus  he  has  created 
nothing,  but  only  bound  together  or  separated  what  was  there 
already,  into  a  house,  a  book,  a  tool.  It  is  all  uncreated,  because 
all  is  in  God,  and  God  is  uncreated,  that  is  eternal." 

Harmonius  was  silent.  But  we  were  all  silent.  The  speech 
of  the  old  man  sounded  wonderful  and  strange  to  us.  We  had 
a  hundred  questions  to  ask,  but  no  one  ventured  to  interrupt 
him. 

"  You  are  silent  and  astonished,"  he  continued  after  a  time, 
"  that  I  call  only  the  change  of  activity  of  the  forces,  and  not 
the  forces  themselves,  finite,  destructible,  transient.  Does  not 
your  Reason  dare  to  assent  to  this?  Or  do  you  find  it  nobler 
and  more  suitable,  in  the  highest  and  living  God,  that  He  in  his 
actions  and  life  should  be  likened  unto  poor  man  ?  that  He 
must  compose  and  create  as  we  do  ?  Or  do  you  find  it  more 
comprehensible  to  your  Reason  that  He  should  bring  into  ex- 
istence something  which  of  itself  is  in  the  kingdom  of  Nothing- 
ness ?  It  is  absolutely  inconceivable  to  the  human  understand- 
ing, because  it  is  absurd  and  self-contradictory,  that  non-exist- 
ence should  become  Existence  ;  just  as  it  is  to  conceive  of 
Existence  becoming  non-existence.  Will  you  then  ascribe  to  the 
Omnipotence  of  God,  what  to  you  is  Absurdity  ?  Know  you  not 
that  from  the  unalterable  conviction,  that  out  of  Nothing  there 
can  arise  no  Something,  and  out  of  Something  no  Nothing — that 
even  hence  comes  the  necessary  knowledge  and  conception  of 
the  Eternal  and  Infinite  ? — that  if  it  were  possible  that  that 
which  exists  could  end,  that  is,  become  nothing,  it  would  also  be 
possible  for  God  to  end,  to  cease  and  become  nothing  ?  But 
that  because  this  is  impossible  and  absurd,  only  the  eternity  of 
God  and  of  all  that  exists,  is  possible,  actual  and  necessary  ?  " 

"  Whither  wilt  thou  lead  us  at  last  with  these  thoughts,  Har- 
monius? "  one  of  us  asked. 

"  Back  again,"  replied  the  venerable  old  man,  "  where  we  com 
menced  our  conversation,  namely,  that  our  Souls  and  Spirits  are 
eternal  uncreated  existences  in  God,  because  He  Himself  is 
All ;  that  our  Spirit  and  our  Soul  did  not  spring  out  of  that 
which  had  no  former  existence,  but  existed  already,  before  they 


HARMONIUS. 


61 


were  connected  with  the  living  power,  and  with  the  rest  of  the 
sensuous  perceptible  material,  which  we  call  the  Body,  at  the 
so-called  hour  of  human  birth. 

1  We  were,  are,  and  shall  be.' 

"  You  ask,  where,  how,  or  what  ?  Friends,  we  are  not  God 
himself,  but  God's.  This  satisfies  us  ;  this  is  our  Blessedness, 
our  Rest  for  Eternity !  He  who  will  look  through  the  All  and 
the  Highest,  and  the  Life  and  web  of  the  eternal  house-keeping, 
he  will  see  through  the  Divinity,  and  will  himself  be  God." 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  there  is  something  in  this,  I  know  not  what, 
which  to  me  is  comfortless.  For  if  I  existed  before,  and  can 
never  end,  then  my  eternal  existence  is  not  of  higher  value  than 
the  shortest  and  most  finite,  since  I  know  as  little  of  what  has 
been,  as  of  what  shall  be  in  the  future." 

"Friend,"  replied  Harmonius,  "we  know  the  Eternal  and 
Divine,  so  long  as  we  are  men,  only  dimly  through  a  veil  which 
surrounds  our  spirit,  and  this  veil  is  Time  and  Space.  When  this 
veil  is  taken  away,  then  lies  Eternity  before  us,  without  Time 
and  Space,  as  One  and  All.  But  I  bear  within  me  a  high  con- 
solation, a  consciousness  that  I  as  Spirit  am  capable  of  higher 
Union,  higher  Power,  capable  of  Perfection.  I  observe  many 
forces  in  the  Infinite,  which  eternally  are  and  were,  what  they 
now  are.  Some  produce  the  forms  of  stones,  metals,  lights,  and 
other  substances :  others  the  lives  and  forms  of  plants :  others 
the  forms  and  souls  of  animals.  And  each  substance,  each 
plant,  each  animal  is  still  the  same,  according  to  History,  which 
it  was  many  centuries  ago.  But  the  human  race,  the  world  of 
our  spirits  has  not  remained  the  same.  Here  is  inconceivable 
development,  majestic  progress,  from  knowledge  to  knowledge, 
from  human  to  divine. — And  as  I  see,  not  merely  the  human 
race,  but  myself  to  ue  evermore  complete,  so  I  am  compelled  to 
believe  that  I  have  had  an  earlier  but  more  incomplete  exist- 
ence:  that  I  shall  exist  in  the  future,  but  more  complete,  ac- 
cording as  I  tend  towards  union  with  lower  or  tvilh  higher  natures 
in  the  divine  Ail." 

"  Can  there  be  then  in  God  a  higher  and  lower,  a  more  and  a 
ess  noble  ?"  interrupted  my  neighbor. 


62 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


"  Certainly  not !  "  answered  Harmonius  ;  "  but  what  dost  thou 
ask  me,  who  must  speak  with  a  human  tongue  and  in  human 
words  ? — Man  is  throughout  a  noble  being  ;  noble  in  his  body, 
his  soul,  his  spirit ;  wonderful  in  their  co-operation,  and  their 
oneness.  And  yet  we  call  one  part  nobler  than  another  ;  the 
spirit  higher  than  the  body  ;  the  head  more  valuable  than  any 
other  limb.  But  with  the  All  it  is  only  the  Whole,  that  consti- 
tutes the  being  of  the  Man.  And  so  All,  is  whatever  God's 
being  comprehends  in  itself." 

"But  what  dost  thou  mean  by  the  '  direction  the  Spirit  may 
take  towards  lower  or  higher  natures  in  the  divine  All  ?  '  "  in- 
quired another. 

"  The  forces  of  things,  the  beings  of  the  Universe,  inter- 
penetrate, divide  and  unite  themselves  according  to  eternal 
laws.  But  the  laws  of  Nature  are,  to  speak  after  the  manner  of 
men,  Thoughts  of  God,  in  which  all  lives,  that  is  to  say,  He  is. 
The  tendency  of  the  spirit  towards  lower  beings  and  oneness 
with  them,  its  proneness  to  the  animal  nature,  to  the  gratifica- 
tion of  the  senses,  lowers  it ;  its  upward  striving  towards  holy, 
wise,  divine,  living  existence,  elevates  it.  It  separates  itself 
from  the  lower,  purifies  itself  in  higher  things,  and  weds  itseh 
to  them.  This  is  called  Virtue  in  human  lanjmajje :  that  is 
called  Sin,  and  falling  away  from  the  godlike. 

"I,  whose  being  was  eternally  in  God,  could  I  have  existed 
eternally,  and  unchanged,  unimproved  in  my  individual  being, 
as  I  am  to-day  ?  I,  who  since  my  childhood  have  not  remained 
unchanged  and  unimproved  1  No,  no,  already  the  experience 
which  at  this  step  of  my  existence  I  possess,  assures  me  of  it :  I 
once  stood  lower,  was  less  perfect ;  I  stand  higher,  i  walk 
already  in  a  heaven.  I,  eternal  in  God,  have  lived  in  union 
with  lower  beings;  I  now  live  in  union  with  loftier  ones;  I 
shall  still  live  with  those  infinitely  higher.  For  me  who  am 
eternally  God's,  God  remains,  and  my  exaltation  in  him.  What 
I  have  is  His,  for  I  am  His.  In  Him  nothing  can  be  lost  to  me, 
for  He  is  not  to  be  lost.  I  have  loved,  before  I  was  in  this 
human  frame,  which  has  now  grown  old.  I  have  lived  and 
loved,  and  shall  live,  and  love  whatever  1  have  loved.    For  the 


HARMONIUS. 


03 


living  God  is  the  eternal  Love  in  Himself,  and  my  love  is  only 
a  beam  shining  through  me  from  Him.  Love  is  but  the  rela- 
tionship of  the  divine  to  itself  the  oneness  of  that  which  is  one 
in  Him.  As  there  is,  among  the  inferior  powers  of  the  universe, 
a  friendship  and  mutual  attraction  between  those  that  are  re- 
lated, so  among  the  higher  natures  there  is  a  spiritual  affinity,  an 
interpenetration  of  different  beings  by  tr^e  same  divine  ray  of  eter- 
nal Love.  I  have  lived  and  loved.  And  what  I  have  lived  for 
and  loved  will  remain  for  me,  for  nothing  can  be  lost  in  God." 

"  Thou  speakest  consolingly  and  loftily,  O  Harmonius,"  said 
I ;  "  but  if  no  recollection  mirrors  back  to  us  the  past,  then  have 
we  lost  our  loved  ones  for  ever,  whom  death  took  away  from  us ! 
How  sad  is  the  thought !" 

Harmonius  was  silent.  He  raised  his  eyes  to  the  image  of 
his  wife.  Like  a  spirit-form  in  our  childish  dreams,  the  marble 
statue  shone  in  the  moonlight. 

"  Thou  seest  not  the  dust  again,"  said  Harmonius  ;  "  if  thou 
hast  loved  the  dust,  then  is  thy  longing  hopeless.  Lovest  thou 
the  Spirit  ?  Ah,  my  friend  !  then  it  lives  with  thee  still  in  the 
great  house  of  God,  is  a  citizen  even  of  our  spirit  world. 

"  But  we  often  deceive  ourselves.  We  fix  our  love  oftener  upon 
the  external  than  upon  the  internal.  We  desire  rather  the  body 
than  the  spirit.  And  it  is  so  pardonable — so  human.  But  the 
human  avails  nothing  in  the  spiritual  world.  For,  there  are  no 
fathers,  mothers,  sisters,  wives — we  are  only  congenial  beings 
there,  and  God's  children,  and  brothers. 

"  The  spiritual  world,  with  its  relations,  powers,  and  laws,  is 
hidden  from  us.  We  men  know  only  the  world  of  men.  But 
even  here  there  breathes  through  us  many  a  presentiment  of — 
the  Only  One  !  We  dare  not  cast  it  from  us.  Many  an  inex- 
plicable thing  announces  itself  to  our  natures.  It  is  madness  to 
attempt  to  unriddle  it,  but  madness  also  to  wish  to  despise  it  as 
a  superstition.  We  are  too  little  acquainted  with  spiritual 
natures,  and  must  put  up  with  riddles,  as  we  do  even  in  the  world 
of  matter. 

"  As  in  visible  nature  similarly  constituted  beings  readily 
associate,  and  even  lifeless  things  are  involuntarily  attracted 
towards  one  another,  so  that  they  are  only  separated  by  force, 


64 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


so  there  is  a  similar,  law  in  the  spiritual  world.  It  is  more  than 
a  fiction,  that  children  who  have  never  known  their  parents,  at 
the  first  sight  of  them,  without  knowing  who  they  are,  are  moved 
by  strange  feelings,  and  attracted  towards  them.  It  is  more  than 
a  fiction  that  separated  friends,  neither  of  whom  was  aware  of 
the  state  of  the  other,  have  suffered  sympathetically.  I  know  no 
reason  that  forbids  me  from  believing  that  that  magnet  which 
here  attracts  one  soul  so  wonderfully  to  another,  may  not,  under 
other  transformations,  have  still  more  influence.  Thus  1  hope 
one  day  to  be  reunited  in  another  world  and  another  life,  with 
those  whom  I  loved  in  this  life.  It  is  the  same  to  me  in  what- 
ever change  of  state  I  again  find  myself.  It  is  sufficient  that  we 
belong  to  one  another,  that  we  are  relations  for  eternity ;  and 
our  Love  endures  imperishably  under  all  forms. 

"  Permit  me,"  continued  Harmonius,  "to  go  on  with  the  story 
which  was  broken  off  at  the  death  of  the  little  bird.  This  part 
of  it  will  not  appear  more  important  than  the  preceding,  but  1 
can  tell  you  what  led  me  to  a  belief,  that  darts  a  beautiful  ray 
through  my  whole  life,  and  through  all  its  gloomy  hours." 


VI. 

We  evinced  the  liveliest  attention.  He  observed  it  with  a 
smile,  and  said  :  "  Your  interest  may  not  perhaps  last  a  great 
while  ;  for  the  narrative  is  unimportant,  though  it  has  its  signi- 
ficance to  me. 

"  I  could  not  for  a  long  time  forget  the  bird.  And,  smile  as 
you  may,  I  long  believed  that  I  should  find  it  again  in  some 
other  form. 

"  An  adventure  with  a  little  dog  reminded  me  anew  of  his  loss. 
One  evening,  wearied  with  walking  in  the  Cathedral-field,  I 
seated  myself  upon  a  bench  under  the  broad  chestnut-trees,  and 
looked  at  the  people  who  were  promenading  up  and  down. 

"  Without  my  observing  it,  a  young  dog  had  approached  me. 
He  brushed  gently  by  my  feet,  in  a  fawning  way,  but  I  did  not 


HARMONIUS. 


65 


notice  it  particularly.  At  last  he  grew  so  familiar  that  he  lifted 
himself  up  and  put  his  feet  upon  my  knee.  I  looked  at  the 
animal  with  some  wonder.  He  seemed  to  speak  to  me  with  his 
eyes,  and  wagged  his  tail.  I  soon  felt  the  liveliest  affection  for 
the  little  fellow.  I  caressed  him.  He  was  a  beautiful  dog, 
with  silky,  chestnut-brown  hair,  snow-white  breast  and  feet,  and 
long-hanging  ears. 

"  While  we  were  caressing  each  other,  a  stranger  drew  near  in 
travelling  garb,  and  called  with  an  angry  tone,  '  Mylon  ! '  The 
dog  seemed  frightened,  left  me,  went  cowering  to  his  master, 
and  then  came  back  again  timidly  and  slowly  to  me. 

" '  How  happens  it,'  said  the  stranger  to  me  in  French,  1  that 
the  dog  knows  you  ?  Have  we  ever  met  before  in  our  travels  V 

"  4  That  can  hardly  be  the  case,'  said  I ;  '  I  have  never  seen 
your  dog  before,  and  until  now  I  was  never  upon  a  journey.' 

"  '  That  surprises  me,'  said  the  man  ;  '  1  observe  for  the  first 
time  that  this  animal  fawns  upon  a  stranger.' 

"  He  called  him  and  went  away.  I  followed  him  involuntarily. 
Mylon  sprang  back  to  me  again,  barked  at  me  in  a  friendly 
way,  and  ran  in  large  circles  around  his  master  and  me. 

"  A  couple  of  acquaintances  met  me,  and  we  engaged  in 
conversation.  Mylon  and  his  master  went  still  farther  on  their 
way.    Late  in  the  evening  I  returned  home. 

"  I  had  a  singular  dream  in  the  night.  I  thought  I  was  walk- 
ing in  my  father's  garden  ;  but  my  father  was  at  my  side.  I 
told  him  about  my  bird.  He  listened  to  me  smiling,  then  pointed 
me  to  the  trellis  which  separated  the  garden  from  the  court- 
yard, and  said  :  4  There  is  thy  beloved  bird.'  I  looked,  and  saw 
behind  the  trellis  the  brown  Mylon,  who  seemed  to  be  searching 
for  the  entrance  of  the  garden.  I  hastened  to  open  the  gate. 
Mylon  sprang  towards  me ;  and,  amidst  mutual  caresses,  I 
awoke. 

"  The  dream  was  still  vividly  present  to  me  while  awake  ;  and 
it  seemed  to  me  to  explain  the  friendliness  of  the  little  dog.  I 
ventured  to  believe,  even  with  the  danger  of  deceiving  myself, 
that  the  soul  of  my  bird  after  many  wanderings  now  enlivened 
Mylon's  beautiful  form,  and  felt  towards  me  its  former  affection. 
I  found  the  delusion  too  beautiful  to  be  willing  to  lose  it. 
6 


66 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


"  I  was  about  to  leave  my  chamber  ;  I  went  to  the  door  and 
opened  it,  when  Mylon  sprang  towards  me.  I  looked  at  him 
awhile  full  of  amazement.  He  had  left  his  master,  crept  into 
our  house,  and  had  probably  passed  the  night  before  my  cham- 
ber-door. 

"  I  lifted  the  animal  with  emotion  ;  I  pressed  him  to  my  breast 
and  wept  tears  of  joy.  All  that  but  a  minute  before  appeared  to 
me  a  delusion,  vanished.  My  bird  and  Mylon  were  now  one. 
No  doubt  disturbed  my  happy  thoughts.  Everything  contribut- 
ed farther  to  confirm  them. 

"  Mylon  did  not  leave  me.  Neither  he  nor  I  saw  his  master 
again.  I  will  not  describe  to  you  my  joy.  Only  one  singular 
passage  I  must  cite.    You  may  call  it  but  an  accident. 

"  On  the  first  evening  I  prepared  a  soft  couch  for  Mylon  near 
my  bed.  I  thought  I  should  find  him  there  the  next  morning, 
but  I  did  not.  He  lay  upon  the  hard  floor,  and  in  the  very  cor- 
ner where  formerly  my  bird  had  his  usual  resting-place  on  his 
twigs.  Be  it  accident,  or  Mylon's  usual  habit  to  prefer  sleeping 
in  such  a  narrow  corner  to  a  more  open  space, — at  that  time  it 
confirmed  anew  the  ideas  which  you  perhaps  will  call  foolish  en- 
thusiasm. 

"  O  how  happy  was  I  with  this  new  friend  !  He  learned  to  un- 
derstand my  speech,  even  my  wishes.  He  was  so  obedient, 
faithful,  so  devoted  to  all  my  little  caprices. — I  felt  the  impossi- 
bility of  being  able  to  reward  such  self-abandoning  love,  and  all 
its  thousand  sacrifices,  which  he  who  receives  them,  is  often  hard- 
ly aware  of! 

"  I  left  my  native  town,  and  spent  some  years  at  the  high 
schools,  in  order  to  perfect  myself  in  the  sciences.  My  faithful 
companion  accompanied  me  wherever  I  went.  He  even  made 
with  me  the  journey  through  Germany  and  Italy,  and  every- 
where shared  with  me  weal  and  wo. 

"  I  was  not,  I  confess,  drawn  towards  Italy  by  the  far-famed 
natural  beauty  of  the  country,  or  by  the  halls  of  art  in  Florence, 
or  the  ruins  of  Rome,  so  much  as  by  other  circumstances.  At 
Colorno,  not  far  from  Parma,  my  father's  brother  had  been  liv- 
ing for  many  years  with  his  family.  He  had  considerably  in- 
creased his  property  by  business  at  Livorno,  and  afterwards,  in 


1IARM0NIUS. 


07 


consideration  of  his  age,  retired  with  his  children  to  a  beautiful 
estate  at  Colorno.  Since  the  death  of  my  father,  all  friendly- 
correspondence  between  him  and  us  was  discontinued.  I  was 
curious  to  see  this  man,  the  brother  of  him  who  was  the  dearest 
to  me  of  all  mortals,  and  to  whom  he  bore  a  high  degree  of  per- 
sonal  resemblance. — I  hoped,  through  my  uncle's  features,  to 
bring  before  me  my  father's  countenance,  and  to  draw  the  pic- 
ture of  my  father,  which  I  wanted. 

"  But  already  I  learned  at  Parma  that  he  was  no  more  among 
the  living.  He  had  died  a  terrible  death,  and  beneath  the  dag- 
ger of  an  assassin. 

"  His  children  too,  my  cousins,  had  since  then  left  the  property 
at  Colorno,  sold  it,  and  chosen  their  residence  in  other  countries. 
They  seem  to  have  fled  from  the  soil  from  which  the  blood  of 
their  unfortunate  father  cried  to  heaven.  As  well  as  I  could 
with  difficulty  learn,  the  monks  and  priests  had  been  my  uncle's 
bitterest  enemies. 

u  I  went  myself  to  Colorno  and  to  the  estate  which  had  once  been 
his.  In  the  midst  of  vine-hills  and  luxuriant  fields  of  rice  lay 
the  simple  castle,  to  which  on  all  sides  long  shaded  avenues  of 
beautiful  fruit-trees  conducted. 

"  My  uncle  seemed  to  have  reverenced  the  beneficent  doctrine 
of  the  Zendavesta,  where  the  Persian  Zoroaster  says,  '  He  who 
tills  the  earth  with  care  and  industry  does  a  higher  service  be- 
fore God  than  he  who  repeats  ten  thousand  prayers  a  day !' — 
But  this  did  not  save  his  devout  life.  Would  that  his  blood  might 
be  the  last  that  flows  for  the  cause  of  religion,  through  the  fury 
of  priests  ! — A  single  false  principle  leads  for  ever  from  the  path 
of  truth  into  endless  war  with  humanity  and  nature.  The  sin- 
gle doctrine  that  only  one  belief  among  all  beliefs  can  be  true 
and  saving,  has  dyed  the^  countries  of  the  four  ancient  divisions 
of  the  earth  with  more  human  blood,  and  authorized  more  horri- 
ble crimes  through  seeming  justice,  than  all  the  rest  of  the  false 
doctrines  of  heathendom  put  together. 

"  Under  the  neighboring  ruins  of  an  old  Abbey,  they  told  me 
my  uncle  was  murdered,  and  that  there  his  ghost  went  about 
all  night,  plainly  to  be  seen. 

"  1  laughed  at  the  tale.    But  as  they  repeated  and  confirmed 


63 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


it  with  the  greatest  seriousness  on  all  sides,  I  resolved,  in  a  fit  of 
boastful  mirth,  as  a  youth  of  twenty-two  years  might  well  do,  to 
look  into  the  matter. 

"  One  evening  I  went  there,  well  armed,  along  with  my  servant 
Matthias  and  Mylon.  A  peasant  brought  us  to  the  outlet  of  a 
dark  thicket,  where  we  saw  the  ruins  of  the  cloister  rising  up  be- 
hind the  low  bushes  in  the  moonlight. 

"  We  went  slowly  towards  the  ruins ;  now  they  disappeared, 
now  they  came  out  again  from  the  bushes.  An  involuntary 
shudder  passed  over  me  in  this  solitude.  The  moon  hung  palely 
from  the  clouds.  The  wind  sent  a  chill  from  time  to  time 
through  the  gloomy  foliage  of  the  overhanging  trees. 

"  How  little  is  man  when  his  courage  is  overpowered  by  that 
superstitious  fear  with  which  he  is  inoculated  under  a  wrong  in- 
struction in  childhood!  Such  is  the  common  course  of  educa- 
tion, which  compels  us  to  bestow  more  years,  in  order  to  unlearn 
the  inculcated  folly,  than  we  needed  in  childhood  in  order  to 
learn  it. 

"  The  midnight  passed  without  any  occurrence.  Already  a 
pale  light  sketched  the  outline  of  the  hills  against  the  eastern 
sky.  My  blood  became  cooler.  I  laughed  at  my  superstitious 
fear,  and  regretted  remaining  without  meeting  with  an  adventure. 

"  At  this  moment  there  was  a  rustling  behind  me  through  the 
rubbish.  I  started.  I  looked  back,  and  saw  in  the  thin  morn- 
ing light  a  human  figure  moving  slowly  near  the  walls.  I 
sprang  up  and  called  to  the  figure  with  a  trembling  voice.  At 
the  same  moment  a  considerable  portion  of  the  wall  near 
which  I  had  seen  the  figure,  fell  thundering  down. 

"  My  senses  forsook  me.  I  sank  down  in  a  deep  swoon,  which 
must  have  bound  me  in  a  heavy  sleep,  for  I  was  awakened  quite 
late,  after  sunrise,  by  the  loud  barking  of  my  faithful  dog. 

"  When  I  opened  my  eyes,  I  saw  two  fellows  among  the  ruins. 
They  ran  and  sprang  towards  me.  They  were  wrapped  in  short 
cloaks  ;  one  of  them  was  armed  with  a  stiletto,  the  other  with  a 
short  sword.  Mylon  kept  them  from  pressing  upon  me.  En- 
raged at  the  dog,  they  both  fell  murderously  upon  him;  I  had 
gained  time  to  jump  up,  and  to  draw  and  fire  my  pistol.    Just  at 


HARMONIUS. 


69 


the  same  time  another  shot  was  fired  against  the  wretches  from 
the  opposite  side. 

"  It  was  Matthias,  who  came  to  my  assistance.  He,  as  he  af- 
terwards told  me,  when  the  wall  fell  down,  had  fled  towards  the 
wood  ;  at  last,  at  full  day-break  he  had  discovered  again  the 
outlet  of  the  wood  towards  the  Abbey,  and  now  had  betaken 
himself  to  this  place,  to  see  what  had  become  of  me. 

"  The  robbers  fled,  and  we  did  not  pursue  them.  Mylon,  who 
had  saved  my  life,  the  faithful  friendly  Mylon,  moaned  sadly, 
and  dragged  towards  me  his  bleeding  body.  He  had  been  twice 
pierced  through  by  the  assassins.  Weeping,  I  raised  him,  bore 
him  to  the  soft  grass,  and  held  his  wounds,  while  Matthias  brought 
water  from  a  neighboring  stream  to  wash  them. 

"  His  moaning  grew  softer.  He  licked  my  hand,  and  looked 
fixedly  at  me,  as  though  he  knew  of  his  long  departure  from  me. 
At  this  bitter  hour,  the  whole  past  renewed  itself :  the  death-hour 
of  my  bird  ;  Mylon's  first  fawning  upon  the  walk  in  the  cathe- 
dral-field of  my  native-town  ;  his  flight  from  his  master  to  me  ; 
his  and  the  bird's  favorite  corner  in  my  chamber.  Now  he  lay 
here,  about  to  die  from  me,  breathing  out  his  faithful  love  with 
his  life. 

"  My  grief  became  passionate.  Sobbing  I  called  repeatedly 
on  his  name  ;  Mylon  heard  my  voice  ;  he  opened  once  more  his 
eyes,  and  once  more  made  the  attempt  to  lick  my  hand.  He 
died. 

"  I  dug  him  a  grave  with  tears.  '  Rest  gently,  thou  dear  dust,' 
I  cried,  '  rest  gently  ! — O  Mylon,  we  shall  find  one  another 
again ;  thou  had'st  a  beautiful  soul ;  it  cannot  be  annihilated.'  " 


VII. 

"  Here  you  have  a  new  element  of  that  which  first  led  me 
to  believe  in  a  transmigration  of  souls.  As  an  appendix  to  this, 
I  will  now  relate  to  you  the  history  of  my  acquaintance  with  my 
wife,  eighteen  years  later. 


70 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


"I  perceive  how  strange  my  course  of  thought  must  appear  to 
you.  You  unacquainted  with  a  thousand  kindred  ideas  which 
shoot  up  within  me  all  at  once  from  the  bottom  of  my  soul,  with 
every  thought,  unacquainted  with  the  whole  concatenation  of 
my  ideas,  will  perhaps  call  this  belief  a  strange  enthusiasm." 

"  No,  Harmonius,"  exclaimed  my  neighbor,  "  thy  belief  is 
mine  also.  Its  germs  have  long  lain  in  my  mind ;  they  shoot 
up  beneath  the  mild  warmth  of  thy  discourse — I  understand 
thee  entirely — Spirits  go  in  their  own  world  their  own  course. 
They  unite  themselves  to  bodies  according  to  unknown  laws, 
and  again  set  themselves  free.  Created  from  eternity,  they 
ripen  for  eternity.  Here  there  is  an  Infinite  struggling  forth, 
and  every  death  is  but  a  change  in  the  scene  of  action.  Unre- 
lated to  the  earthly,  they  cannot  cleave  to  this,  but  aspire  to- 
wards the  divine.  I  am  immortal ;  the  universe  has  no  earthly 
limits  for  me  ;  sooner  or  later  I  dare  to  hope  that  I  shall  be  a 
witness  of  loftier  scenes. 

"  O  Harmonius,  I  feel  that  there  is  no  catechism-heaven,  no 
catechism-hell!  An  infinite  crowd  of  spirits,  ascending  to  the 
fountain  of  goodness  and  bliss  !  Harmonius,  I  also  once  doubted 
with  childish  weakness.  But  since  I  have  ceased  to  listen  to 
the  wisdom  of  the  schools,  and  have  inquired  of  Nature,  the 
great  universe  is  to  me  divine. 

"  Yes,  ye  eternal  flame-flowers,  up  there  in  the  unmeasured 
fields  of  heaven,  ye  cannot  be  planted  there  in  vain  !  Ye  look 
down  upon  dog,  eagle,  worm  and  fish,  but  no  one  of  them  knows 
that  ye  are  earths  and  suns  swimming  in  the  Infinite.  Man 
knows  it.  Ah,  perhaps,  sooner  or  later,  one  of  ye  shall  be  my 
dwelling-place :  and  while  upon  earth,  true  friends  are  still 
weeping  over  the  grave  of  the  slumbering  one,  I  shall  already 
feel  there  the  unknown  charms  of  another  life.  There  I  shall 
find  new  brothers  and  sisters. 

"  Death  will  lead  them  to  me — and  me  to  them ;  an  eternal 
and  ever  beautiful  change  !  And  among  all  spirits,  there  will 
be  for  me  perhaps  a  twin-spirit,  one  dearer  than  all !" 

He  was  silent.  We  were  strangely  moved.  No  one  could 
6peak.  Our  souls  were  lost  in  a  mild  stream  of  feeling. 
We  now  floated  through  a  golden  sea  of  clouds ;  and  its  light 


/ 


HARMONIUS. 


71 


fell  upon  the  flowering  bushes,  now  dimly,  now  in  streams  of 
splendor.  Between  the  intricate  branches  of  the  chestnuts  and 
poplars,  the  stars  shone  here  and  there,  now  hidden,  now  reveal- 
ed by  the  moving  leaves.  The  whole  landscape  seemed  to  hang 
around  us  in  etherial  light,  dissolved  in  delicate  vapor-pictures. 
So  did  the  poets  of  the  olden  time  look  upon  their  Elysium. 


VIII. 

"Dear  friend,"  said  Harmonius  at  length,  "I  love  these  soar- 
ings of  imagination,  under  the  guidance  of  holy  feelings.  But 
there  is  something  more  to  be  found  here  than  the  rainbow-col. 
ored  web  of  Fantasy.  There  is  here  a  deep,  earnest  truth  of 
Nature  and  Reason.    Perhaps  I  may  lead  you  back  to  this. 

"  My  inspired  friend  was  certainly  right  when  he  said,  that  if 
we  inquire  of  Nature  herself,  we  shall  learn  to  know  a  more 
beautiful  heaven,  than  the  barren  heaven  of  the  Catechism.  I 
have  read  Nature,  the  word  of  God :  it  is  a  work  of  infinite 
Wisdom  and  Love. 

"  The  Life  of  the  universe  is  the  activity  of  its  ever  living 
forces  and  existences,  and  their  eternal  striving  to  separate  or  to 
unite.  All  the  forces  of  Nature  work  near  and  through  and  in 
one  another.  No  one  of  them  can  be  lost ;  we  see  only  in  their 
various  connections  and  operations  that  they  change,  like  the  ideas 
in  the  human  spirit.  The  electric  force  which  dwells  in  the 
cramp-fish  and  in  the  thunder-cloud,  and  which  fills  all  earthly 
substances,  always  existed  :  but  it  is  never  perceived  by  us,  till 
it  unites  itself  to  those  other  forces,  which  through  their  opera- 
tion upon  our  senses,  and  much  more  upon  our  souls,  awaken 
feelings  and  ideas.  In  the  same  way  does  the  formative  power 
exist  and  operate,  which  creates  in  rock-caverns  the  wonderful 
crystal,  and  in  plants  fibres  and  sap-vessels  and  cells.  Thus, 
too,  the  life-power,  in  mosses,  sea-weeds,  oaks  and  palms,  in 
the  mouse  as  in  the  lion,  unfolds  the  mystery  of  germination, 
growth  and  social  propagation. 


72 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


"  When  the  plant  withers  and  dies  and  is  turned  into  dust,  do 
you  suppose  that  the  life-power  which  has  departed  from  it  may- 
pass  away,  like  the  outer  form  in  which  it  was  veiled  ?  Do  you 
suppose  that  for  every  new  flower  that  springs  from  the  earth, 
there  must  arise  out  of  nothingness,  a  new  life-power,  which  has 
never  before  existed  ?  No,  whatever  is, — was,  and  ever  shall 
be.  The  life-power  of  the  decayed  plant  has  only  gone  back 
into  the  generally  diffused  mass  of  life-power,  just  as  the  electric 
fluid  which  shows  you  the  lightning  flash,  goes  into  the  general 
mass  of  electricity ;  or  as  the  earthly  portion  of  the  plant  goes 
into  the  general  mass  of  organic  substances  diffused  over  the 
surface  of  the  earth. 

"  The  organic  substances,  or  rather  the  forces  that  operate  in 
them,  remain  for  ever ;  and  also  those  forces,  which,  in  order  to 
be  revealed  to  the  senses,  unite  themselves  with  organic  matter. 
The  life-power  changes  only  the  garment  in  which  it  appears 
to  us. 

"  Higher,  infinitely  higher  than  these  lower  powers,  stand  in 
the  kingdoms  of  God,  in  the  midst  of  the  boundless  All,  souls 
and  self-conscious  spirits.  Neither  can  these  vanish  away  into 
inconceivable  nothingness,  even  in  their  earthly  forms.  They 
wed  themselves  to  other  powers,  and  appear  before  us  in  new 
forms.  Whatever  has  lived  upon  earth  still  lives  ;  and  the  mat- 
ter in  which  the  first  plants,  animals  and  men,  were  embodied,  is 
the  same  as  that  of  which  the  bodies  of  plants,  animals  and  men, 
consist,  at  the  present  day.  Why  should  I  doubt  the  transforma- 
tion and  self-transformation  of  spirits,  souls  and  forces,  when 
Nature  already  shows  it  to  me  in  her  kingdoms  ? 

"It  can  in  nowise  be  maintained  then, that  spirits  in  their  trans- 
formations are  limited  only  to  the  little  body  of  a  world  which 
we  call  our  earth.  Why  should  not  the  higher  beings  be  wan- 
derers from  other  worlds,  when  we  perceive  other  and  far  inferior 
powers  move  actively  from  star  to  star  with  inconceivable  rapid- 
ity ?  There  is  an  inward  wonderful  communion  between  the 
myriads  of  worlds  scattered  through  the  universe.  The  power 
of  gravitation  links  them  together  in  shining  wreaths,  and  the 
streaming  light  builds  golden  bridges  from  world  to  world  in  the 
immeasurable  space. 


HARMONIUS. 


73 


"The  belief  of  high  antiquity  in  the  transmigration  of  souls, 
which  to  the  ignorance  of  later  times  seems  foolishness,  will 
return  to  its  former  nobility  through  observation  of  nature.  And 
if  in  your  opinion  it  be  a  delusion  that  I  have  met  upon  earth 
one  and  the  same  beloved  soul  in  different  forms,  then  call  it  a 
delusion  on  my  part,  though  an  inexplicable  feeling  in  me,  though 
an  inward  voice  assures  me  it  is  a  certainty.  1  know  three  be- 
ings to  whom  I  have  been  attached  during  my  seventy  years' 
life,  in  a  wonderful  and  involuntary  manner,  as  I  have  been 
towards  no  other  beings.  In  all  three  there  was  the  same  ten- 
derness, the  same  fidelity.  The  third  of  these  beings  was  my 
wife. 

"  Not  far  from  a  village,  one  day,  on  my  return  from  a  journey 
of  business,  I  saw  on  the  highway  a  female  beggar,  whom  one 
of  those  who  passed  by  was  repelling  with  the  words,  £  Go  and 
work,  thou  art  young,  and* should  be  ashamed  to  beg  !' 

"  As  I  drew  nearer,  my  travelling-chaise  being  a  good  way  be- 
hind me,  the  man  quietly  continued  his  way. 

"I  stood  still  involuntarily.  I  suddenly  felt  my  heart  so  con- 
tracted, and  all  my  ideas  and  feelings  so  resolved  into  one,  that 
I  did  not  know  myself.  The  most  captivating  Beauty  stood  be- 
fore me  in  the  garb  of  the  deepest  poverty. 

"She  also  seemed  confounded.  A  glowing  blush  overspread 
her  face,  like  the  burning  reflection  of  the  morning  clouds.  Then 
she  turned  pale,  seemed  to  try  to  command  herself  and  hasten 
away,  staggered,  lost  her  strength,  and  was  obliged  to  support 
herself  tremblingly  against  a  tree.    I  went  up  to  her. 

"  '  Thou  art  not  well,  my  child  !'  T  said.  And  it  seemed  to  me 
that  I  had  already  known  her  long. 

"  She  answered  not,  though  her  lips  opened  to  reply.  She 
gazed  at  me  long  and  fixedly  with  her  innocent  look,  as  if  she 
would  read  my  very  soul.  Then  she  turned  suddenly  and  went 
away. 

"  I  remained  rooted  to  the  spot.  Ten  paces  from  me  she  again 
leaned  against  an  oak  tree,  and  looked  back  at  me.  She  wept, 
and  seemed  endeavoring  to  repress  her  tears  forcibly. 

"I  approached  her.  '  What  aileth  thee,  my  child  V  I  asked  ; 
4  art  thou  unhappy  V 


74 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


"She  answered  not.  Her  grief  overpowered  her.  She  sobbed 
aloud,  gazed  upon  me  with  eyes  full  of  tears,  endeavored  to  fly, 
reeled  as  if  exhausted,  and  sank  down  towards  me.  I  caught 
her  in  my  arms.  Her  eyes  were  closed,  and  her  face  deadly 
pale.    I  trembled  lest  she  should  die  upon  my  breast. 

"  Trembling  I  laid  her  down  in  the  high  grass,  ran  to  a  run- 
ning spring  which  flowed  out  of  the  rocks  across  the  road,  scoop- 
ed up  the  cool  water  in  my  hat  and  hastened  back. 

"  The  maiden  had  awakened  from  her  swoon.  She  heard  my 
footsteps,  and  using  all  her  strength,  rose  up  slowly. 

"  A  faint  red  again  tinged  her  cheeks.  She  thanked  me  with 
a  smile. 

"  1  Thou  art  very  ill !'  said  L 

"  She  smiled,  and  answered  with  a  faint  hesitating  voice  :  1  No 
indeed  !' 

"I  drew  out  my  purse,  and  instead"Df  selecting  any  pieces  of 
gold  for  her,  gave  her  the  whole  sum.  I  thought  I  had  still 
given  her  but  little. 

"  The  girl  blushed,  gave  me  back  the  gold,  and  said  :  '  I  want 
nothing.' 

"  1  Then  I  will  at  least  attend  thee  to  thy  dwelling,  for  thou 
art  weak.' 

"  i  It  is  not  far  from  here,'  said  she. 
"  '  Are  thy  parents  there  V  I  asked. 

"  1  O  no.  My  parents  are  dead.  I  am  an  orphan.  They  are 
distant  relatives,  poor,  good  people,  who  have  taken  pity  on  me. 
But  except  the  shelter  of  their  cottage,  they  can  give  me  no- 
thing.   I  tend  the  geese,  or  carry  milk.' 

" 1  Why  dost  thou  not  go  into  service  V 

"  '  I  cannot.  The  old  man  in  our  cottage  would  be  without  a 
nurse.    He  is  sick.' 

"  '  And  how  old  art  thou  V  I  asked. 
"  1  Seventeen  years.' 

"  With  such  conversation  we  arrived  at  the  maiden's  dwelling  : 
a  dilapidated  cottage,  almost  held  together  by  the  ivy  which 
climbed  around  it,  and  bound  it  to  a  steep  wall  of  rock.  Within 
there  were  everywhere  traces  of  the  extremest  poverty,  but 


HARMONIUS. 


75 


still  great  neatness.  A  woman  was  washing  at  a  running 
spring,  shaded  by  a  tall  elder-bush.  An  old  man  lay  moaning 
within  upon  a  straw  bed  near  the  door. 

"  We  seated  ourselves  upon  a  wooden  bench  not  far  from  the 
cottage.  Before  us,  through  willows  and  alder  trees,  a  smiling 
prospect  opened  across  the  river  to  the  opposite  shore. 

"  '  May  I  venture  to  offer  you  fresh  milk  and  black  bread  for 
your  breakfast?'  asked  the  maiden. 

"  I  nodded  pleasantly.  Joy  streamed  from  her  eyes.  She  ran, 
she  flew  away. 

"  During  her  absence  I  had  some  conversation  with  the  woman 
about  her  foster-daughter.  The  woman  spoke  of  her  with  emo- 
tion, and  her  account  agreed  with  what  I  had  myself  learned 
of  the  maiden.  As  yet  I  did  not  know  her  name.  The  poor 
girl  was  called  Cecilia. 

"  After  a  while  Cecilia  made  her  appearance.  In  a  clean 
wooden  vessel  she  set  the  bread  and  milk  before  me. 

"  '  Cecilia,'  said  I,  '  I  feel  for  thee  ;  thou  art  unhappy.' 

"  She  blushed.  Her  expressive  eyes  were  again  filled  with 
tears. 

"  1  Wilt  thou  always  remain  a  beggar  V  I  continued. 

"  '  Poverty  has  not  made  me  unhappy,'  she  sighed. 

I  would  do  everything  for  thee  !'  said  I  again,  after  a  pause. 
'I  will  give  thee  new  clothes  and  travelling-money,  and  thou 
shalt  go  to  my  native-town.  I  will  have  thy  foster-parents  pro- 
vided for,  that  they  shall  not  starve.' 

"  The  foster-mother  had  overheard  my  words.  Cecilia  looked 
down  with  a  disturbed  expression.  The  woman  hastened  for- 
ward, and  exhausted  all  her  eloquence  in  persuading  Cecilia 
not  to  reject  such  good  luck.  Cecilia  assented  obediently.  I 
gave  the  woman  money,  and  sent  her  to  the  village  to  purchase 
better  clothes  for  Cecilia. 

"  I  was  left  alone.  After  a  little  while  I  heard  the  tones  as  of 
one  weeping.  _I  knew  it  was  Cecilia's  voice.  She  was  speaking 
in  the  cottage  half- aloud  and  with  a  smothered  voice. 

"  I  hastened  in.  A  half-open  door  gave  me  a  view  of  the  poor 
girl  in  a  chamber.    Her  back  was  turned  to  me.    With  her 


70 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


hands  folded  and  raised  to  heaven,  there  stood  Cecilia,  weeping 
and  sobbing,  and  I  now  and  then  caught  a  few  of  her  words : 

"  '  Thou  hast  seen  my  tears !'  she  said,  overpowered  by  her 
feelings  :  1  Thou  hast  counted  my  sighs  !  O  my  God,  my  God, 
how  have  I  deserved  that  thou  shouldst  make  me  so  happy  V 

"  Prayer,  when  it  comes  from  the  over-burdened  heart,  is  like 
tears.  It  takes  from  suffering  all  its  thorns,  and  from  joy  its 
intoxicating  poison. 

"  I  seated  myself  upon  the  wooden  bench.  In  a  few  moments 
Cecilia  came  towards  me,  her  eyes  red  with  weeping.  She 
looked  fixedly  at  me,  as  I  did  at  her. 

a  <  Why  dost  thou  weep,  dear  Cecilia  V  said  I. 

"  Unchecked  her  tears  now  streamed  down  her  cheeks.  She 
threw  herself  on  her  knees  before  me ;  she  seized  my  hand,  and 
pressed  it  to  her  lips,  and  cried,  '  Ah,  my  happiness  is  all  too 
great !  How  could  I  hope  so  much  ?  I  will  be  your  truest 
maid  ;  I  will  never  forsake  you — I  will  willingly  die  for  you  !' 

"  But  I  will  not  longer  detain  you  with  my  feast  in  the  cottage 
of  these  poor  people.  I  brought  Cecilia  to  a  neighboring  town, 
to  one  of  my  female  acquaintances,  who  was  the  principal  of 
an  institution  for  the  education  of  women.  Then  the  humble 
saint  became  my  wife. 

"  More  important  in  this  narrative  are  some  other  circumstances, 
both  as  respects  myself  and  Cecilia.  It  remains  with  you  to 
call  these  circumstances  the  dreams  of  an  enthusiast,  or  the 
game  of  what  we  call  Chance.  To  me  they  had  a  vivid 
significance. 

"  To  these  belong  that  strange  feeling  with  which  I  was  seized 
when  I  first  saw  Cecilia.  That  my  whole  being  was  thus  carried 
away  towards  this  poor  girl  may  perhaps  be  nothing  remarkable. 
For  the  instances  are  many  of  persons  who,  never  having  met 
before,  at  the  first  glance  are  kindled  into  a  sudden  and  pas- 
sionate natural  love.  There  are  similar  phenomena  to  these, 
belonging  to  our  mysterious  inward  being,  which  have  never 
been  explained.  Whence  this  sudden,  involuntary  passion  of 
man  towards  one  person,  to  whom  a  thousand  others  remain 
indifferent  ? 

"  It  is  not  generally  the  magic  power  of  Beauty  that  works  this 


HARMONIUS. 


77 


miracle,  for  we  know  that  in  life  we  often  do  not  recognize  beauty 
in  that  to  which  we  are  attracted  by  passion  ;  and  that  sometimes 
hearts  are  kindled  by  a  form  which,  through  its  irregularity, 
approaches  what  seems  unlovely  in  the  general  opinion.  In  all 
passion  or  love,  as  in  our  conviction  of  truth,  we  are  governed 
not  so  much  by  free-will  as  by  the  constraint  of  Nature,  by 
Necessity.  That  the  first  pleasing  impressions  of  a  human  form 
upon  the  tender  mind  of  earliest  childhood  should  always  re- 
main indelible,  and  should  still,  in  later  years,  influence  our 
opinion  of  Beauty,  and  the  pleasure  we  feel  in  this  or  that  form 
is  as  little  borne  out  by  experience  as  it  is  ridiculous  to  a  sound 
understanding.  This  authoritative  Necessity,  in  our  inclination 
or  disinclination,  seems  to  me  to  lie  in  a  peculiarity  of  the  nature 
of  the  soul,  which  is  involuntarily  subjected  to  the  same  natural 
law,  which  rules  everything  else.  Only  the  mind  of  man  has 
free-will,  not  the  soul,  which  is  its  next  form,  its  organ  of  feeling. 
That  alone  has  consciousness  ;  the  soul  knows  only  feelings  and 
instincts.  In  the  mind  dwells  the  longing  after  perfection,  in 
the  soul  Love. 

"  At  my  first  interview  with  Cecilia,  I  had  no  control  over  my 
inclination  towards  her,  but  was  drawn  to  her  in  spite  of  my 
will.  Neither  her  poverty  nor  her  beauty  had  moved  me,  but 
our  minds  were  one,  as  if  we  had  always  been  one  being,  as  the 
life  of  the  mother  and  her  babe  are  for  a  long  time  but  one  life, 
until  they  are  separated  by  the  constraint  of  Nature.  Friends  ! 
there  is  already  more  than  a  new  world  discovered  upon 
the  much  navigated  ocean  of  Science  :  but,  from  the  limitation 
of  the  soul's  power  of  observation,  we  can  scarcely  know  the 
shores,  and  find  a  fit  landing-place,  from  which  we  may 
press  into  the  interior,  for  a  sight  at  the  wonders  and  secrets  of 
all  life. 

"  Far  more  surprising  to  me  was  that  which  I  afterwards  learned 
from  Cecilia.  She  affirmed,  that  before  she  had  known  me,  she 
had  at  times  seen  a  form  like  mine  in  her  dreams,  and  even  in 
the  earliest  dreams  of  her  childhood.  She  became  so  much 
accustomed  to  the  appearance  of  this  form,  under  every  variety 
of  circumstance,  as  is  often  the  case  with  dreams,  that  she  re- 
tained her  recollection  of  it  even  when  wide  awake.  Only 

HI 


73 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


occasionally — not  once  in  a  year — my  image  had  appeared 
before  her :  but  it  was  met  by  her  with  the  same  longing 
and  love.  She  spoke  of  the  sensation  which  it  produced,  to 
me  unintelligible,  as  an  indescribable,  a  strange,  painfully- 
pleasant  contraction  of  the  breast,  even  as  far  up  as  between 
her  shoulders.  She  affirmed  that  after  one  of  these  dreams,  she 
had  experienced  this  feeling  for  some  days,  though  it  gradually 
grew  less  perceptible. 

"  As  she  was  one  day  gathering  strawberries  in  the  woods,  she 
was,  without  any  previous  dream,  seized  with  this  same  stricture, 
and  this  immediately  brought  to  her  remembrance  the  image  in 
her  dream.  She  soon  heard  the  sound  of  a  horse's  feet  on  the 
road  which  led  through  the  wood.  She  looked  towards  the  rider. 
It  was  myself,  who  was  travelling  through  this  oountry  upon  a 
journey  of  business.  But  I  do  not  remember  at  that  time  seeing 
the  strawberry-gatherer.  Cecilia,  on  the  contrary,  as  I  learned 
from  her  account,  was  as  if  paralyzed  by  my  look.  She  clung 
to  the  trunk  of  a  tree,  to  prevent  her  sinking  to  the  earth. 
She  doubted  whether  she  was  dreaming  or  waking.  And  as  I 
might  be  far  on  my  way,  she  ran  up  the  road  after  my  horse's 
steps,  to  see  me  once  more,  if  only  at  a  distance.  Her  endeavor 
was  fruitless. 

"  This  explains  the  singular  state  she  fell  into,  when  I  found  her, 
as  I  have  related  to  you,  begging  alms  near  the  village.  She, 
at  that  time,  had  no  doubts  about  the  actual  existence  of  the 
form  she  saw  in  her  dreams :  but  she  had  relinquished  the  hope 
of  ever  meeting  it  in  reality. 

"  Enough  of  this,  dear  friends.  I  have  given  you  the  explana- 
tion, which  you  desired,  of  my  words,  i  Imperishable  Love 
under  all  forms.' 

"  As  for  yourselves,  you  may  suppose  that  the  story  I  have 
related  to  you  shows  the  sportings  of  chance,  or  the  workings  of 
a  deluded  imagination ;  you  may  find  another  key  to  what  to 
me  appears  wonderful.  I  will  give  you  credit  if  you  do!  But 
these  higher  convictions  of  my  belief  cannot  be  shaken,  much 
less  eradicated.  You  cannot  destroy  for  me  the  harmony  of 
Experience  and  Reason,  of  Past  and  Future,  of  Time  and 
Eternity. 


HARMONIUM. 


79 


"  Man,  placed  between  an  eternal  Nothing  and  an  eternal 
Reality,  can  comprehend  the  possibility  of  neither  the  one  nor 
the  other;  or  who  can  fathom  the  question,  why  an  eternal 
Nothing  is  not  as  good  as  an  eternal  Being  ?  But  I  am  con- 
scious  of  myself  and  of  the  actual  All.  This  IS.  And  because 
it  is,  therefore  it  is  impossible  that  what  is,  should  vanish  away 
and  become  nothing ;  therefore  what  is,  is  eternal ;  the  power  in 
an  atom  of  dust,  and  the  power  which  thought  in  Plato.  All  is 
power,  all  spirit,  all  active.  This  is  the  infinite  kingdom  of 
Nature  :  but  the  world  is  only  the  operation  of  this  upon  the  mind 
and  soul.  The  play  of  effects,  of  operations,  is  changeable  :  the 
eternally-active  is  unchangeable.  The  world  changes,  but  not 
nature. 

Being  itself  does  not  change,  but  only  its  relations  to  one 
another.  Mind  and  soul  move  in  other  connections  according  to 
divine  ordinances.  The  strength  or  weakness  of  the  Will,  which 
the  mind  is  conscious  of  in  itself,  by  a  natural  necessity  creates 
a  distinction  between  the  elevation  or  the  degradation  of  Self. 
That  is  its  Heaven — this  its  Hell.  There  is  an  infinite  progress  of 
spirits  towards  perfection  in  the  Infinite,  as  the  solar  systems  with 
their  planets  wheel  through  the  realm  of  the  immeasurable  All. 
Eternal  Activity  !  New  union,  to  be  going  on,  of  spirits  and  souls 
with  new  powers,  which  become  their  serviceable  instruments 
of  contact  with  the  All  of  things — this  is  transmigration  of  souls. 
Any  other  kind  of  continued  duration  and  continued  action  is 
inconceivable  to  us.  Whether  upon  earth,  or  in  other  worlds, 
is  a  matter  of  indifference.  But  one  spirit  sees  these  things 
more  clearly  than  another. 

"  That  which  in  the  seemingly  self-unconscious  forces  which 
lie  deep  beneath  us,  we  call  Attraction  and  Affinity,  and  which 
higher  beings  among  themselves  call  Love,  is  ever  the  same,  is 
from  God.  For  God  is  Love.  And  thus  Love  bears  kindred 
souls  imperishably  through  all  forms." 


so 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


X. 

So  spoke  Harmonius.  But  these  are  not  his  words  which 
I  give,  but  mere  links  in  the  chain  of  his  thoughts.  We  all 
found  ourselves  so  wonderfully  entangled  by  them,  that  we 
could  neither  free  ourselves  from  them  by  contradiction,  nor,  on 
account  of  their  singular  character,  altogether  agree  with  them. 

What  Harmonius  said  of  the  objects  of  his  affection,  appears 
to  us  not  more  singular  than  what  is  related  of  Pythagoras. 
Concerning  the  substance  of  this  peculiar  view  of  Nature  I  ven- 
ture no  opinion.  But  to  me  it  is  remarkable,  that  so  lofty  a  spirit 
as  Harmonius  should  return  at  last  to  that  which  already  per- 
vaded the  secret  doctrines  of  the  ancients,  of  the  Indians  and 
Egyptians,  the  Pythagorean  and  Platonic  ideas,  and  the  Pindaric 
songs. 

For  the  thinker,  the  exhibition  of  a  thinking  spirit  of  a  pecu- 
liar kind,  is  not  less  attractive  than  the  delineation  of  a  striking 
character  in  external  life.  Therefore  I  have  thought  that  I 
should  do  something  not  altogether  useless,  in  selecting  the  more 
significant  passages  from  the  conversation  of  the  excellent  old 
man  Harmonius.* 


*  From  the  MSS.  of  C.  P.  Cranch. 


JACK  STEAM. 


JACK  STEAM. 


JACK  STEAM, 

THE  BUSY-BODY. 


JACK  STEAM. 

The  return  of  the  famous  Jack  Steam  from  the  high  school  of 
Outland  to  his  native  town,  was  an  epoch  in  the  history  of  Lalen- 
burg,  and  concerned,  we  may  say,  the  whole  European  world. 
At  least,  every  good  Lalenburger  considered  the  affairs  of  his 
own  little  town  of  importance  enough  to  fasten  tfc  s  attention  of 
the  most  remote  as  well  as  of  the  nearest  countries  ;  and  no  one 
doubted  for  a  moment  that  the  least  detraction  from  the  ancient 
fame  of  Lalenburg,  or  of  the  Lalenburg  patricians,  would  disturb 
the  sacred  balance  of  Europe,  and  set  the  whole  world,  from  the 
Ural  mountains  to  the  Tagus,  in  fire  and  flames.  It  is  always 
good  when  the  citizen  of  never  so  small  a  town  thinks  well  of 
himself,  and  he  ought  never  to  behave  himself  meanly,  for  great 
words  and  little  deeds  amount  to  nothing  but  Quixotism  and  gas- 
conade. The  true  greatness  of  a  state  does  not  consist  in  the 
fact  of  its  wealth,  but  in  the  power  and  active-mindedness  of  its 
inhabitants — at  least  of  those  who  bear  the  staff  of  authority. 
The  people  in  themselves  are  nothing  but  cyphers ;  only  the 
magistrates  are  the  numbers  that  can  be  counted  at  all,  or  that 
possess  any  real  significance. 

Jack  Steam  was  the  son  of  the  deceased  burgomaster  Peter 
Steam,  one  of  the  greatest  statesmen  of  his_  century.  Peter's 
lofty  and  philanthropic  spirit  had  never  disturbed  the  peace  of 
Europe.  In  sagacity  he  surpassed  all  his  contemporaries;  in 
judgment  he  was  infallible  ;  in  decision  perfectly  correct ;  and  in 


84 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


sallies  of  wit,  there  never  was  one  like  him.  And  he  was  all  this 
upon  the  simple  ground  that  he  was  the  first  magistrate  of  the 
town.  Not  what  he  had  actually  done,  but  what  he  might  have 
done,  would,  if  it  were  written,  fill  whole  folios,  and  he  take 
rank,  if  not  above,  still  near  to  the  most  commanding  princes  in 
the  history  of  the  world.  He  died  too  early  for  the  fortunes  of 
Lalenburg,  and  only  the  virtues  of  his  successor,  Mr.  Burgomas- 
ter Tobias  Crack,  could  mitigate  the  just  but  silent  sorrow  of  the 
state,  for  the  loss  of  the  great  Peter  Steam. 

The  young  Jack  Steam  had  formed  himself  at  school  so  that 
he  might  assume  the  duties  of  his  hereditary  rank  as  a  patri- 
cian with  honor.  It  was  true  there  was  a  good  academy  at 
Lalenburg,  but  that  served  only  for  the  instruction  of  the  common 
citizen-classes  and  the  poorer  families  among  the  higher  orders. 
The  Lalenburg  nobility  already  understood,  what  other  states- 
men have  more  slowly  made  the  ground-work  of  their  policy, 
that  enlightenment  and  intelligence  were  the  most  deadly  poi- 
sons that  could  be  distributed  among  the  people.  Europe  has 
only  to  thank  intelligence  for  the  greater  part  of  the  evils  under 
which  she  suffers.  If  this  principle,  then,  is  so  detrimental  in 
monarchies,  that  the  Secretary  often  knows  more  than  his  Minis- 
ter, and  the  Captain  or  the  Lieutenant  presumes  to  criticise  the 
strategy  or  the  tactic  of  the  General,  by  which,  in  the  end,  they 
are  completely  turned  about,  the  highest  becoming  the  lowest, 
and  the  lowest  the  highest,  how  dangerous  would  be  the  opera- 
tion of  it  in  a  state  where  there  existed  greater  freedom,  in  a  re- 
public, for  instance,  where  the  people  are  so  apt  to  know  as  much 
as  their  betters. 

The  lords  of  Lalenburg  had  early  adopted  the  noble  principle 
that  the  lower  classes  should  be  allowed  to  sip  from  the  springs 
of  Wisdom  only  as  much  as  might  be  requisite  for  the  necessi- 
ties and  sustenance  of  life.  In  several  of  the  neighboring  vil- 
lages of  that  free  republic,  they  had  left  it  to  the  patriotic  chari- 
ty of  the  peasants  themselves  whether  they  would  have  common 
schools  or  not,  and  whether  they  would  pay  the  salary  of  the 
teachers.  The  peasants,  as  might  naturally  have  been  expected 
from  their  sound  good  sense,  found  out  for  themselves  the  eternal 
truth,  that  a  peasant  at  the  plough  has  no  need  of  great  erudi- 


JACK  STEAM. 


65 


tion.  They  grew, .  accordingly,  in  the  fear  of  God  and  pious 
simplicity,  as  well  as  other  people,  and  became  thick  and  fat,  to 
the  admiration  of  everybody.  In  general,  the  government  of 
Lalenburg,  if  we  may  judge  from  their  blooming  prosperity,  was 
much  too  good  for  the  people,  who  were  regarded  as  one  would 
regard  a  flock  of  sheep  entrusted  to  his  care,  as  something  to  be 
made  fat.  The  fatter  the  man,  the  more  respectable  he  was.  In 
the  towns,  also,  a  similar  principle  prevailed,  and  there  sprung  up 
in  Lalenburg  one  of  the  most  praiseworthy  regulations  in  the 
world,  which  only  obtains  in  India,  Egypt  and  the  celebrated 
countries  of  the  east,  viz.  that  the  son  pursued  the  calling  of  his 
father ;  the  son  of  a  rustic  remained  a  rustic,  and  could  never 
to  all  eternity  be  anything  else ;  the  mechanic's  Child  became 
a  mechanic,  the  preacher's  son  a  preacher,  the  merchant's  son  a 
merchant,  and  the  counsellor's  son  a  counsellor.  Whoever 
thought  this  was  not  an  excellent  arrangement,  was  called  a  tur- 
bulent  fellow,  a  demagogue,  or  perhaps  a  metaphysician,  ajaco. 
bin,  and  other  bad-sounding  names. 

To  maintain  this  spiritual  peace,  and  to  banish  ail  unsafe  curi- 
osity, they  had  established  an  excellent  censorship,  which  was  af- 
terwards copied  from  the  Lalenburgers  by  other  lands.  Manu- 
scripts and  books,  with  a  proper  foresight,  were  forbidden  to  the 
before-mentioned  "  turbulent  fellows,"  and  they  were  allowed  to 
carry  about  with  them  only  the  song  and  the  prayer-book  or  a 
catechism.  The  Lalenburg  Code  contained  one  singular  ar- 
ticle :  of  the  state  or  republic  of  Lalenburg  not  the  least  word 
could  be  whispered,  lest  some  important  state  secret  should 
be  betrayed.  But  when  theCouncil  consented  that  something  re- 
ally worthy  could  be  praised,  then  the  Lalenburg  Fame  took  up 
her  trumpet,  and  blowed  the  praises  of  the  glorious  action  to  the 
ends  of  the  earth,  that  other  nations  might  have  an  example,  and 
the  future  historian  proper  materials.  This  awakened  among 
the  patrician  youth  a  noble  emulation. 

Even  Jack  Steam  himself  was  inflamed  by  it,  although  Nature 
had  already  done  much  for  the  worthy  lad.  He  seemed  to  have 
been  born  for  great  things.  It  is  but  just  to  speak,  in  the  outset  of 
his  career,  of  the  rare  merit  that  he  was  not  rich,  although  he 
had  rich  uncles  and  cousins  to  inherit  from.    Already  the  secret 


86 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


knowledge  that  he  would  have  money  one  day  and  was  born  to 
command,  acquired  him  great  credit  and  made  him  virtuous, 
learned,  intelligent,  upright,  intellectual  and  worthy.  From 
his  agreeable  figure,  they  saw  wherever  he  came,  that  he  would 
form  himself  according  to  his  own  will  ;  his  words,  his  manners, 
his  movements  were  marked  with  a  pleasing  easiness,  an  unaf- 
fected life,  which  in  another  person,  of  lower  extraction,  they 
would  have  called  ill-breeding  or  impudence.  He  was  accustom- 
ed to  speak,  with  noble  frankness,  whether  he  understood  his 
subject  or  not ;  was  full  of  knowledge  without  pedantry,  which 
he  had  gathered  from  romances,  reviews  and  learned  newspapers, 
that  enabled  him  to  dispense  with  the  reading  of  pedantic  books, 
and  yet  communicated  a  fifth  part  of  their  contents.  To  this 
foundation  of  wisdom  there  was  not  wanting  either  humor  or 
activity.  He  was  a  restless,  indeed,  we  might  say  a  mercurial 
man ;  mingled  in  all  things,  wished  to  know  everything,  to  say 
everything  ;  to  do  everything, — in  short,  was  perfect  in  every 
quality  which  in  a  common  person  would  certainly  pass  for  pert- 
ness,  but  in  Lalenburg  acquired  him  great  weight,  and  is  regard- 
ed by  eminent  statesmen  as  a  mark  of  universal  genius. 


THE  BUSY-BODY. 

At  the  high  school,  the  same  liveliness  of  disposition  had  been 
the  occasion  of  many  little  disagreeable  events,  and  sometimes  of 
a  severe  flogging  from  some  rude  man.  But  only  common  mor- 
tals allow  themselves  to  be  intimidated  by  earthly  mischances. 
He  continued  the  same.  Raised  above  the  storms  of  fate,  and 
the  pains  of  his  back,  he  pursued  his  chosen  career,  which 
among  his  schoolfellows  won  him  the  somewhat  equivocal  and 
singular  name  of  bully,  but  which  on  the  throne  of  one  of  your 
world-rulers,  is  very  properly  metamorphosed  into  the  title  of 
The  Great.  For,  strictly  speaking,  nothing  in  itself  is  either 
great  or  small,  and  only  becomes  so  by  means  of  time,  place  and 
circumstance.  Alexander  the  Great,  as  well  as  his  Swedish 
ape  Charles  the  Twelfth, — Charles  the  Great,  as  well  as  his 


JACK  STEAM. 


87 


Corsican  imitator,  was  each  in  his  time  a  mere  Jack  Steam  the 
busy-body,  and  played  in  the  great  drama  of  their  several  na- 
tions, his  ever  memorable  but  unblessed  part. 

Even  this  brisk  butterfly-like  courage,  this  desire  to  be  over 
all,  and  like  no  one  else,  to  be  all  in  all,  distinguished  our  no- 
ble youth,  among  his  fellow  citizens  no  less  than  among  stran- 
gers. His  fellow  citizens  were  accustomed  to  think  deliberate- 
ly, and  come  to  a  point  with  caution.  Fortune  was  true  to  him 
here  as  in  all  things.  No  wonder  that  the  greater  part  of  the 
Lalenburgers  regarded  him  as  an  extraordinary  apparition  in 
the  history  of  the  world  and  mankind,  and  at  last  came  to  look 
upon  the  sports  of  accident  as  the  work  of  his  strength,  and  wrote 
reports  concerning  many  performances  of  his,  which  he  himself 
knew  nothing  about. 

As  soon  as  he  had  returned  to  his  native  place,  it  was  com- 
monly remarked  that  he  had  grown  in  years,  in  understanding 
and  in  body.  Indeed,  he  overtopped  the  majority  of  his  fellow 
citizens  about  the  length  of  a  head,  and  therefore  they  gave  him, 
as  a  distinction  from  the  rest  of  the  Steamish  family,  the  sur- 
name of  the  Great.  That  it  was  only  to  greatness  of  mind  such 
a  surname  was  due,  never  entered  the  thought  of  a  Lalenburg- 
er ;  for  mind  has  neither  flesh  nor  bones. 

After  one  year,  when  the  great  and  sovereign  council  of  the 
town  and  republic  of  Lalenburg  was  renewed,  or,  more  pro- 
perly, repaired,  he  attained,  by  right  of  birth,  to  the  dignity  of 
those  who  wielded  the  chief  power,  who  were  the  legislators  of 
the  state,  and  from  among  whom  it  was  customary  to  select  the 
persons  on  whom  the  highest  posts  of  honor  were  conferred. 

A  young  aspiring  man  must  naturally  have  felt  it  to  be  very 
agreeable  lo  belong  to  the  "Fathers  of  the  Country."  This 
appellation,  the  best  and  most  honorable  which  mighty  Rome 
gave  to  her  most  excellent  rulers,  and  which,  in  modern  times, 
the  people  apply  to  their  really  great  men,  the  Lord-Councillors 
of  Lalenburg  referred  to  themselves,  both  in  their  solemn  dis- 
cussions and  in  their  every-day  proclamations,  even  if  the  object 
was  merely  to  make  known  a  meat  or  bread  tax. 

Soon  after  this  elevation,  fortune  cast  upon  Jack  Steam,  the 
dignity  of  First  Architect  to  the  republic. 


88 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


I  say,  fortune  ;  for,  with  the  exception  of  the  consular  dignity, 
which  depended  upon  a  secret  majority  in  a  formal  election,  all 
the  other  offices  at  Lalenburg  were  distributed  by  lot.  This 
excellent  arrangement  deserved  to  be  admired,  as  it  was.  Not 
only,  by  means  of  it,  were  all  the  strifes  of  factions  and  parties 
prevented,  which  the  ambition  of  the  citizens  in  a  republic  car- 
ries to  such  extremities,  but  the  choice  received  a  sort  of  holy 
attestation  and  seal.  It  was  not  man,  but  Heaven  itself,  who 
designated  the  most  worthy  officers.  True,  it  happened  not 
unfrequently  that  the  butcher  became  the  school-teacher,  the 
barber  the  postmaster,  and  the  chief  cook  superintendent  of  the 
treasury  ;  but  this  promoted  a  multiplicity  of  mental  accom- 
plishments which  are  nowhere  easily  got.  It  was  in  accord- 
ance too  with  the  old  and  sensible  maxim,  that  to  whom  God 
gives  a  place  he  gives  also  understanding,  a  maxim  which 
originally  took  its  rise  in  Lalenburg,  as  everybody  knows. 

Jack  Steam  was,  therefore,  in  no  respect  misplaced,  although 
he  had  never  in  the  course  of  his  life  made  even  a  card-house, 
when  he  was  chosen  Chief  Architect  of  the  republic.  He  as- 
sumed the  oversight  of  the  two  common  springs  of  the  capital, 
of  the  public  streets,  on  which  in  open  daylight  one  might 
without  special  care  break  his  neck  or  his  bones,  and  of  the 
public  edifices,  to  which  belonged  the  council-house,  the 
academy,  the  engine  houses,  and  even  the  church  and  parsonage. 

His  youth,  his  wealth  and  his  distinctions,  made  him  one  of 
the  most  important  personages  in  the  state.  Every  maiden  and 
mother  looked  upon  him  with  friendly  expectations,  and  he  very 
naturally  looked  kindly  upon  them  ;  but  the  matrimonial  candi- 
dates were  so  many,  that  he  found  it  difficult  to  decide  to  which 
of  them  he  should  give  the  ring.  He  fluttered  from  flower  to 
flower.  In  every  street,  he  had  a  sweetheart ;  and  very  soon, 
in  the  whole  of  Lalenburg,  there  was  not  a  citizen's  daughter 
who  did  not  fancy  that  she  had  made  some  impression  upon  the 
heart  of  this  Alcibiades. 


JACK  STEAM. 


89 


JACK  STEAM. 

Uncles  and  cousins,  when  they  saw  his  irresolution,  at  last  met 
together,  to  consult  over  the  choice  of  the  future  Mistress  Chief 
Architect.  They  considered  it  an  indispensable  requisite  in  the 
daughter  of  the  country  who  should  be  offered  the  marriage, 
that  she  should  have  wealth  and  family ;  and  after  long  thought, 
investigation,  and  many  timely  ifs  and  huts,  their  votes  fell 
upon  Miss  Rozina  Piphen,  only  daughter  of  the  Chamberlain  of 
the  republic,  a  grandchild  of  a  for-twelve-blessed-years-deceased 
burgomaster,  relative  of  the  most  respectable  and  wealthy 
houses  of  the  state,  and  herself  the  richest  heiress  among  all  the 
blooming  maidens  of  Lalenburg. 

Jack  Steam  frankly  gave  vent  to  many  objections  against  this 
chosen  one :  but  all  were  without  any  real  foundation.  She 
was  about  ten  years  older  than  he — but  she  was  the  grandchild 
of  a  burgomaster.  She  patiently  carried  a  hump  on  her  back 
— but  she  had  money.  She  was  so  small  in  figure  that  she 
could  not,  without  stretching  her  hand  high  above  her  head, 
walk  arm-in-arm  with  him  through  the  ways  of  life — but  he 
himself  could  bend,  or  shorten  himself  by  getting  down  on  his 
knees. 

After  all,  to  the  delight  of  the  pious  little  Rozina,  the 
negotiation  was  opened  between  the  relatives  of  the  two,  with 
all  proper  form.  Jack  Steam  willingly  left  the  trouble  of  it 
to  them.  The  affair  was  crowned  with  the  very  best  luck. 
The  day  was  appointed,  when  he  should  go  and  ask  the  hand 
of  their  daughter  from  the  Honorable  Chamberlain  and  the 
Honorable  Chamberlainess.  After  this  important  business, 
which,  according  to  custom,  was  managed  as  a  most  notorious 
secret,  the  portions  given  by  the  relatives  on  both  sides  were  to 
be  brought  together,  and  a  brilliant  supper  prepared. 

Jack  Steam,  on  the  appointed  day,  could  hardly  wait  till 
evening,  and  keep  the  secret  of  the  festival  in  the  dark.  Mean- 
while, the  uncles  and  cousins  rejoiced,  not  so  much  at  the  pros- 
pect of  a  betrothal- feast,  as  at  the  supposed  surprise  of  the  whole 
town  on  the  following  morning,  when  the  secret  should  take  air. 


90 


and  greeting  upon  greeting  fly  from  every  mouth.  The  town-ar- 
chitect had  dressed  himself  most  gaily,  early  in  the  morning,  and 
it  gave  him  much  uneasiness  that  he  could  not  show  his  finery 
until  the  evening.  His  vanity  caused  him  to  think  of  the  many 
complaisances  and  coynesses  which  would  make  him  appear  to 
be  the  very  Cupid  of  Lalenburg. 

At  any  rate,  that  he  might  reap  a  harvest  of  wonder,  he 
walked  forth. 


THE  BUSY-BODY. 

His  first  desire  led  him  to  the  house  of  the  town-pastor,  where 
he  had  always  been  received  with  the  most  Christian  kindness  ; 
for  the  pastor  had  a  daughter,  a  pious,  sweet  blonde,  called 
Susanna,  who  was  well  worthy  to  become  Mistress  Town- 
architect.  Jack  Steam,  in  general,  looked  kindly  upon  the 
blonde,  and  the  heavenly  blonde  looked  kindly  upon  him.  He 
was  possessed  by  a  feeling  which  is  peculiar  to  great  men,  that 
he  burned  with  the  most  intense  devotion  for  every  beautiful 
woman  that  stood  near  him. 

It  was  afternoon.  The  time  flew  past  swiftly  in  the  midst  of 
entertaining  chat  about  household  affairs,  and.  the  marriage 
statistics  of  the  neighborhood.  Coffee  was  brought  in  ;  and  they 
sat  down  around  a  black  cloth  with  great  gold  landscapes,  which 
ornamented  a  Japanese  table,  with  one  leg  made  in  the  form  of 
a  pillar,  the  parson  and  his  wife  on  the  right  and  left,  and  the 
tender  Jack  Steam  and  the  modest  blonde  opposite  to  each  other. 
They  greatly  enjoyed  the  famous  Arabian  drink.  The  Archi- 
tect had  never  seen  Susanna  more  beautiful  than  she  was  that 
day  ;  no  doubt,  she  was  the  more  so,  because  that  very  day, 
within  a  few  hours,  he  was  to  surrender  his  freedom  for  ever  to 
the  little  Rozina.  He  quietly  compared  the  attractive  rival 
with  her  little  treasure-box,  which  awaited  him  in  the  evening, 
with  the  golden  hair  curling  so  beautifully  over  the  marble 
forehead  of  Susanna,  and  all  the  gold  and  money  of  Miss 
Chamberlainess  seemed  like  so  much  dross.    Susanna's  blue 


JACK  STEAM. 


91 


heavenly  eyes,  her  sweet  little  red  mouth,  and  her  snow-white 
neck  induced  him  easily  to  forget  the  entire  circle  of  Rozina's 
respectable  and  distinguished  relatives.  And  when  he  caught 
a  glimpse  of  the  neat  and  delicate  feet  under  the  table,  with  their 
white  stockings,  and  then  thought  of  the  broad  masculine  foot 
of  Rozina,  his  love  for  the  blonde  blazed  out  at  once  into  a  clear 
flame.  He  dismissed  the  elected  bride,  and  wished  for  no  other 
paradise  than  Susanna  could  have  made  for  him.  It  gave  him 
pain,  however,  that  she  all  the  while  modestly  hung  down  her 
eyes,  and  kept  surveying  the  coffee  cups.  Not  even  his  new 
violet-colored  silk  vest  had  fastened  her  attention.  He  would 
willingly  have  declared  the  sweet  feeling  which  possessed  him, 
but  was  restrained  by  the  presence  of  the  parents.  Still  he 
could  not  refrain,  while  placing  his  feet  near  to  hers,  from  con- 
veying to  her  by  one  soft  and  tender  touch,  how  eager  he  was 
to  approach  her. 

Unfortunately,  he  had  not  observed  that  Susy  had  drawn  her 
feet  back,  and  that  the  feet  of  the  mother  occupied  their  place. 
Now,  these  were  no  less  sensitive  than  those  of  the  seventeen- 
year-old-beauty,  for  the  good  lady  had  been  a  long  while  com- 
plaining of  what  are  called  corns.  It  would  appear  she  had 
them  at  any  rate,  since  the  love-tap  of  the  architect  not  only 
pressed  out  of  her  a  very  death-shriek,  but,  in  order  to  save  her 
toes  from  the  vehement  pressure,  made  the  Japan-table  a  parti- 
cipant in  the  affair,  by  which  all  the  coffee-dishes  were  tumbled 
pell-mell  towards  one  side.  As  no  one  was  impolite  enough, 
however  much  he  might  desire  it,  to  take  all  the  coffee,  milk, 
sugar  and  butter  to  himself,  each  one  pushed  the  table  the  other 
way,  so  that  it  was  kept  flying  about  like  a  ball  between  them, 
until  everybody  had  received  a  portion  of  its  contents. 

All  were  frightened  out  of  their  wits,  since  no  one  knew  the 
particular  occasion  of  this  sudden  stroke  of  Fate.  The  dark 
tablecloth,  as  well  as  the  architect's  new  violet-colored  vest, 
shone  like  another  milky-way,  while  the  pastor's  wife  and 
daughter,  with  a  hundred  curtseys,  asked  pardon  of  Jack 
Steam  for  the  awkward  accident,  which  had  also  ornamented 
their  fine  white  aprons  with  coffee-colored  and  curious  images. 
Jack  foresaw  that  in  the  end,  when  their  fright  would  allow 


92 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


them  to  inquire  into  the  affair,  that  his  guilt  would  become 
apparent,  and  so,  before  it  was  too  late,  he  took  his  departure. 

A  cloudy  sky  had  anticipated  the  darkness  of  the  night. 
Jack  hoped  to  indemnify  himself  for  the  misadventure  ai  the 
parson's,  by  the  feast  at  the  Chamberlain's,  and  hurried  to  his 
house,  and  so  into  his  chamber,  to  exchange  his  silk  violet- 
colored  vest  for  one  that  was  dryer. 

This  accomplished,  he  went  to  the  window,  to  see  whether  the 
rain  would  render  any  measure  of  security  necessary.  But 
the  rain  had  suddenly  ceased,  and  he,  as  he  opened  the  window, 
was  met  by  fire  instead  of  water — not  an  earthly,  but  a  super- 
earthly  fire — not  from  heaven,  but  from  the  black  eyes  of  a 
charming  neighbor  called  Catharine. 

This  Catharine  was  no  one  else  than  the  daughter  of  Place- 
Major  Knoll.  But  she  knew  no  better  place  in  the  whole  king- 
dom than  the  heart  of  Jack  Steam,  and  fondly  believed  that  she 
would  soon  get  possession  of  it.  For  Jack  Steam,  whenever  he 
was  near  her,  loved  no  one  as  well  as  she ;  and  he  was  often 
near  her,  although  the  Major  himself  was  not  much  of  a  friend 
or  patron.  Both  these  high  officers  had  been  reared  in  the 
same  rank  and  precedence  in  diplomatic  controversies.  The 
Major  maintained,  that  in  consequence  of  the  big  feather  on  hi*? 
hat,  he  was  a  greater  man  than  Jack  Steam,  while  Jack  was 
just  as  certain,  that  as  the  architect  was  distinguished  for  con- 
struction, and  the  soldier  only  for  destruction,  they  should  take 
precedence  accordingly.  Although  the  architect  had  never 
constructed  anything,  nor  the  Major  destroyed  anything,  they 
had  continued  the  controversy  before  the  council  and  citizens 
for  more  than  a  year  and  a  day. 

The  good  little  Kate,  with  her  fire-flashing  eyes,  was  not 
altogether  of  the  opinion  of  her  father.  Whenever  she  could, 
in  the  twilight  of  morning  or  evening,  she  looked  out  of  that 
window  of  her  house  which  was  opposite  to  the  house  of  the 
Steamers.  The  whole  street  was  not  three  paces  wide,  as  if 
made  especially  for  lovers,  so  that  they  might  whisper  back  and 
forth  without  being  heard  by  the  people  who  sauntered  along 
the  walks  below. 

Now  they  whispered  here  for  some  time  ;  they  said  a  great 


JACK  STEAM. 


93 


many  pretty  things,  and  Jack  complained  at  times  of  what  he  had 
often  before  lamented,  that  the  street  was  not  a  pace  or  two 
smaller,  so  that  he  might  kiss,  or  at  least  shake,  the  hand  of  the 
dear  Katy.  He  had  even  gone  so  far,  since  he  had  been  town- 
architect,  as  to  swear  to  his  lovely  neighbor,  that  he  would  some 
time  or  other  build  a  bridge  from  his  casement  to  hers,  which 
no  one  within  a  hundred  miles  of  Lalenburg  would  be  able  to 
find.  Thus  far  he  had  contented  himself  with  the  mere  threat, 
although  Catharine  had  never  expressed  the  least  objection  to 
the  enterprise. 

This  bridge-building  plan  again  entered  Jack's  noddle,  when 
the  beauty,  with  the  flaming  eyes,  continued  to  tell  him,  among 
other  things,  that  she  was  very  glad  to  see  him  or  any  other 
man,  for  she  was  all  alone  in  the  house  and  nearly  terrified. 
The  project  of  storming  the  castle  of  Major  Knoll  had  never 
seized  Jack  so  forcibly  as  now,  when  the  garrison  was  left  ex- 
posed. He  called  upon  the  stars  for  permission  to  construct  his 
air-bridge,  and  pass  over  it,  and  without  waiting  for  an  answer 
— there  was  a  plank  near  at  hand — he  fell  to  at  his  daring 
work.  It  is  true  the  beauty  was  not  a  little  uneasy  at  the 
danger  of  this  projected  air-voyage  ;  but  the  architect  was  de- 
termined to  keep  up  the  dignity  of  his  calling,  and  be  an  archi- 
tect in  fact.  He  blessed  the  art  of  architecture  as  practised  in 
Lalenburg,  because  it  brought  people  into  such  neighborly 
relationship  ;  laid  the  plank  from  window  to  window,  and  crept 
cautiously  upon  all  fours  out  into  the  open  air.  No  one  could 
discover  him,  since  it  was  already  dark  night. 

This  darkness,  as  advantageous  as  it  was,  had  still  a  few 
little  drawbacks.  For  Catharine,  as  she  cautiously  drew  one 
end  of  the  plank  into  her  chamber,  did  not  observe  that  she  drew 
it  a  little  too  far  ;  neither  did  guildmaster  Crackle,  a  potter 
by  trade,  observe  what  a  tempest  was  sweeping  over  him,  as  he 
drove  through  the  street  below,  his  wagon  All  of  earthenware, 
destined  for  the  annual  fair  of  a  neighboring  market. 

How  often  adverse  circumstances  conspire  to  defeat  the  best 
\aid  schemes  of  mortals  was  seen  in  this  instance.  The  bridge 
lost  its  stand-point  on  the  Steamian  window.    The  plank  slid, 


94 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


and  although  Miss  Catharine  held  fast  with  both  hands,  and 
pulled  with  might  and  main, — still  the  architect  would  fall. 

Jack  Steam  came  down  to  the  great  danger  of  guildrnaster 
Crackle's  pots  ;  and  fortunately,  or  unfortunately,  though  he  kept 
himself  whole,  he  metamorphosed  the  ware  into  the  strangest 
shapes.  This  occasioned  such  a  fearful  crackling  and  crashing, 
that  the  guildrnaster,  who  walked  quietly  beside  his  horses, 
thought,  that  if  the  whole  heavens  were  not  falling  down,  some 
house  was  certainly  undergoing  the  process.  The  horses,  no 
less  frightened,  gave  one  furious  leap,  and  were  soon  out  of  the 
street  into  the  park  before  the  Council-house. 

The  guildrnaster,  curious  as  to  how  much  of  his  wagon  would 
be  left,  stopped,  and  was  in  the  act  of  making  an  investigation, 
when  to  his  no  small  astonishment,  he  saw  a  man  spring  from 
the  back  part  of  the  wagon,  carrying  with  him,  in  the  midst  of 
a  terrible  crackling,  some  dozen  or  more  of  the  pots.  It  was 
plain  to  him  now,  that  this  had  been  some  thieves'  trick,  or  the 
work  of  the  devil.  With  great  presence  of  mind,  he  ran  to 
seize  the  perpetrator  of  it,  who,  as  we  know,  was  no  other  than 
the  town-architect.  But,  instead  of  him — Jack  had  slipped  off 
to  avoid  unpleasant  observation — the  angry  potter  grabbed  the 
shoemaker,  Mr.  Awl,  a  deserving  head-guildmaster,  whose  Fate 
led  him,  unseasonably  as  it  appeared,  on  his  way  from  the  Council- 
chamber  to  his  house,  to  pass  the  place  where  lay  the  unfortu- 
nate wagon.  Mr.  Crackle  seized  the  head-guildmaster  with  such 
lusty  vehemence,  and  grappled  him  so  fast,  that  he  could  not 
move.  A  boa-constrictor  would  not  have  embraced  him  more 
warmly  than  the  potter,  who  then,  with  a  voice  which  might 
have  been  heard  far  beyond  the  city  gates,  cried  out,  "Help! 
Robbers  !  Murderers  !  Thieves  !" 

The  hard-pressed  shoemaker,  who,  indeed,  had  great  occa- 
sion to  shelter  himself  from  this  clamor,  did  not  miss  the  opportu- 
nity. The  public  peace  was  never  broken  more  maliciously. 
Feeling  both  his  innocence  and  his  danger,  he  shouted  out  in 
emulation  of  his  raving  companion,  "  Death !  Fury !  Murder ! 
Banditti!  Thieves!" 

This  shrieking,  the  like  of  which  had  not  been  heard  for  a 
full  century  in  Lalenburg,  spread  a  panic  of  fear  over  the  whole 


JACK  STEAM. 


95 


neighborhood.  Everybody  bolted  his  doors  and  windows  from 
within  with  the  greatest  nimbleness,  while  they  conjectured  that 
there  was  a  whole  band  of  robbers  in  the  streets,  or  that,  after 
the  fashion  of  other  countries,  a  revolution  had  broken  out. 
Those  who  were  loitering  in  the  streets  flew  hastily  in  the  oppo- 
site direction,  least  they  should  be  put  to  death  in  the  fisticuff. 
At  the  gates,  the  town  watchmen,  mostly  old  paralytic  men, 
whom  the  praiseworthy  magistrates  fed  at  public  expense,  grasped 
their  halberds  tremblingly,  flew  to  the  watch-house,  barricadoed 
themselves  in,  and  then  swore  that  they  would  die  each  for  all, 
and  all  for  each,  if  they  should  be  invaded  and  caught.  Major 
Knoll,  even,  who  was  accidentally  returning  home  that  way, 
took  the  alarm,  and  fancying  that  he  heard  robbers  and  murder- 
ers calling  to  each  other,  tore  the  big  feather  from  his  hat,  lest 
some  of  the  band  should  take  him  for  a  military  person,  and  fled 
panting  back  to  the  town-house. 

When  in  this  way  no  one  came  to  the  help  of  the  combatants, 
they  shouted  a  good  half  hour  longer,  until  their  voices  became 
hoarse.  In  the  mean  time,  they  had  tried  their  strength  against 
each  other  in  manifold  ways ;  more  than  once  had  they  rolled 
over  each  other  on  the  hard  ground,  more  than  once  had  the 
fight  been  renewed  without  either  of  them  gaining  a  decided 
victory.  Neither  was  willing  to  let  the  other  go.  They  dragged 
one  another,  both  with  the  same  design,  to  the  house  of  a  butcher 
near  by,  who  was  the  godfather  of  both  of  them  ;  and  after  many 
entreaties  that  the  door  should  be  opened,  it  was  done.  The 
butcher  thought  that  he  heard  the  well-known  voices  of  some 
of  his  fellow  citizens  who  had  escaped  the  blood-bath  in  the 
streets.  But  as  the  shoemaker  and  the  potter  came  to  recognize 
each  other  by  the  candlelight,  without  loss  of  time  they  redoubled 
their  clatter  ;  for  their  respective  guilds  had  been  old  enemies, 
and  each  believed  for  a  certainty  that  the  other  had  played  him 
a  bad  trick  out  of  mere  revenge. 

Meanwhile  Jack,  in  anxiety  and  fear,  had  made  the  best  of 
his  way  out  of  the  town,  not  wishing  to  lead  the  much-bruised 
potter,  by  whom  he  supposed  he  was  followed,  to  his  own  house. 
He  forgot  Rosina,  and  the  almonds  and  confectionery  of  the  be- 
trothal, and  Catharine  at  the  window,  and  her  amazement  over 


96 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


the  contemplation  of  an  empty  plank.  He  wandered  about  the 
whole  evening,  and  found,  when  he  supposed  it  would  be  safe 
for  him  to  return  home,  that  the  town  gates  were  closed.  This 
troubled  him  uncommonly,  for  it  now  occurred  to  him  that  he 
had  left  his  friends  and  followers  locked  in  at  home.  He  passed 
the  night  at  a  little  tavern  out  of  town,  where  he  gave  out  that 
he  had  been  belated  while  taking  a  walk. 


JACK  STEAM. 

On  the  following  morning  he  returned  in  good  time  to  the 
town,  but  not  without  trepidation.  Sometimes  he  dreaded  that 
the  proud  Chamberlain  Piphen  would  revenge  his  absenting  him- 
self from  the  betrothal,  and  at  times  he  suspected  that  some  cir- 
cumstance had  betrayed  him  to  Potter  Crackle,  as  the  author  of 
the  mischief  done  to  his  ware.  But  he  hoped  to  get  through  the 
difficulty  by  means  of  his  peculiar  self-assurance. 

Thus  far,  everything  in  Lalenburg  went  well ;  but  as  he  came 
to  his  residence,  he  found  before  it  three  messengers  from  a  neigh- 
boring village,  who  had  already  waited  for  him  more  than  an  hour. 
The  first  announced  hastily  that  a  fire  had  broken  out  in  the 
village,  and  that  they  had  diligently  looked  after  him,  to  send  an 
engine,  inasmuch  as  he  had  the  keys  of  the  engine  houses. 
The  second  continued  that  three  houses  were  already  burned 
down,  but  that  many  fire-engines  had  arrived  from  the  surround- 
ing country.  And  the  third  concluded  by  saying  that  fortunately 
the  fire  was  extinguished  in  about  half  an  hour. 

Jack  Steam  stroked  his  chin  thoughtfully,  and  said  to  the 
peasants,  who  reverentially  stood  before  him  with  their  hats  ofF, 
'•'You  asses,  if  the  whole  village  had  been  burned  down,  you 
would  have  been  guilty  ;  for  you  ought  to  have  come  here  at  the 
proper  time,  before  the  fire  had  caught,  so  that  something  could 
have  been  done  for  you  in  season.  In  that  case,  I  should  not 
have  gone  out,  or  passed  the  night  in  the  country.  Still,  it  is 
well  that  the  fire  is  extinguished.  At  another  time,  you  must 
announce  it  before  it  breaks  out,  so  that  we  can  have  time  before- 


/land  to  put  the  engines  in  order.  So  go  home,  and  tell  my  de- 
cision to  your  principals." 

He  had  scarcely  dismissed  them,  and  taken  his  breakfast, 
when  he  was  sought  for  by  one  of  his  uncles,  who  had  experienced 
so  much  pleasure  at  the  betrothal  feast  of  yesterday.  He  came 
with  a  commission  from  Mr.  Chamberlain  Piphen,  who  had  taken 
the  absence  of  the  architect  so  sorely  that  he  could  hardly  speak 
with  politeness,  to  the  effect,  that,  as  to  the  betrothal,  marriage 
and  son-in-lawship,  it  must  be  dropped  now  and  for  ever  ;  that 
Jack  must  henceforth  make  no  pretensions  to  the  hand  of  the 
worthy  little  humped-back  Rozina,  and  that  he  must  take  care 
how  he  crossed  the  threshold  of  the  much  injured  Chamber- 
lain, if  he  would  avoid  the  risk  of  making  a  rough  exit  by  the 
window. 

As  it  concerned  the  hand  of  the  beautiful  Rozina,  Jack  com- 
forted himself  very  soon;  nor  did  the  threatened  expulsion  from 
the  window  make  any  particular  impression  upon  him,  seeing 
that  his  first  attempt  in  that  way  had  been  so  successful.  But 
the  displeasure  of  the  Chamberlain  was  not  so  agreeable.  He 
was  undoubtedly  a  man  of  influence  in  the  council  of  the  town 
and  republic,  and  very  properly  so,  since  with  all  his  ignorance, 
he  was  one  of  the  richest  men  in  the  place. 

The  uncle,  however,  gave  him  to  understand  that  he  would 
not  have  found  the  Chamberlain  so  severe  upon  his  heedlessness, 
but  for  the  sly  Town  Secretary,  who  had  sedulously  inflamed  the 
wrath  of  the  Chamberlain  by  his  wicked  insinuations.  Mr. 
Sulks  in  fact  reckoned  upon  coming  into  possession  of  Rosina 
and  her  treasury  himself :  besides  that  for  other  reasons  he  was 
not  a  good  friend  of  Steam's,  because  when  he  was  soliciting 
the  office  of  Secretary,  and  made  his  regular  round  of  suppli- 
cating visits  to  the  worthy  magistrates,  Jack,  under  the  pretence 
of  clearing  him  of  a  few  blots  that  had  been  sprinkled  upon  him, 
had  rubbed  them  in  with  lampblack.  Sulks  was  not  the  man 
who  could  forget  an  offence  of  this  kind  even  after  twenty 
years.  He  used  very  few  words,  but  as  they  were  accus- 
tomed to  say  in  Lalenburg,  he  had  big  ears ;  looked  no  one 
in  the  eye  when  he  spoke  ;  but  always  smiled  very  obligingly, 
particularly  in  the  church  when  he  was  saying  his  prayers  be- 


98 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


hind  his  hat ;  was  therefore,  on  account  of  his  agreeable  and 
meagre  appearance,  a  little  vain  ;  and  asserted  with  immovable 
self-confidence,  that  no  scribe  in  Europe  wrote  so  graceful  a 
hand  as  he. 

Jack  Steam,  that  same  day,  felt  not  only  the  remarkable  effects 
of  his  recent  invasion  of  the  sharp  crockery  of  the  potter,  but 
also  that  Secretary  Sulks  suspected  that  no  one  but  Jack  Steam 
could  have  been  the  author  of  the  mischief.  Sulks,  in  truth,  as 
soon  as  he  had  learned  the  story  from  his  neighbor,  the  guild- 
master,  had  gone  to  make  a  personal  inspection  of  the  premises 
where  the  affair  occurred,  and  had  found  among  the  traces  of  the 
crockery  before  the  door  of  the  Town-Architect's  house,  one  of 
the  mother-of-pearl  buttons  from  his  coat.  This  fact,  and  Steam's 
singular  non-appearance  at  the  betrothal,  seemed  to  stand  in  the 
closest  relation  to  each  other.  It  was  soon  reported  that  the 
Secretary  of  the  Council  was  about  to  bring  charges  against 
Jack  Steam,  both  on  account  of  this  aggression,  for  the  disturb- 
ance of  the  public  peace,  and  for  not  having  sent  the  engines 
to  the  fire.  The  Architect,  not  at  all  terrified,  took  the  threat 
quite  easily  ;  and  although  Chamberlain  Piphen,  guildmaster 
Crackle,  the  whole  kin  of  the  Pastor,  and  many  others  having 
similar  grievances,  swelled  the  party  of  the  Secretary,  Jack 
Steam,  nothing  daunted,  confided  in  his  luck  like  a  Caesar,  and 
in  his  eloquence  like  a  Cicero.  He  distributed,  however,  a  pro- 
test, if  not  against  the  Secretary,  still  against  the  long  hair-tail, 
upon  which,  as  the  longest  in  Lalenburg,  the  Secretary  prided 
himself,  although  he  was  not  bound,  as  a  burgomaster  was,  by 
the  nature  of  his  office,  to  wear  a  long  pigtail.  Already  this  tail 
had  become  a  stone  of  offence  to  many  judicious  citizens,  and  a 
certain  patriotic  butcher  had  more  than  once  sworn  that  he 
would  hew  it  from  the  top  of  his  head. 

The  news  of  this  protest  spread  quickly  over  the  town ;  for, 
according  to  the  custom  of  Lalenburg,  whatever  passed  in  the 
Council  of  Lalenburg,  was  told  with  solemn  confidence  from 
mouth  to  ear,  and  ear  to  mouth,  until  every  inhabitant  of  both 
sexes  was  let  into  the  secret.  The  inquisitive  and  tattling 
people  were  made  quite  happy  by  this,  and  used  to  spend  a  good 
deal  of  money  on  the  gazettes. 


JACK  STEAM. 


99 


Both  parties  prepared  themselves,  and  awaited  the  approach- 
ing day  for  holding  the  Council,  with  great  anxiety.  The  ses- 
sions were  held  once  a  week.  The  government  in  the  mean- 
while went  on  very  well,  and  the  republic  was  governed  in  the 
best  way  without  any  trouble.  One  burgomaster,  on  the  ordi- 
nary week  days,  would  sell  coffee  and  spices,  another  would  fabri- 
cate ribbons,  the  Chamberlain  poured  out  wine,  one  Councilman 
made  sausages,  another  bread,  &c,  &c. ;  enough  that  every  one 
was  busy,  and  knew  that  the  material  interests  of  the  state  were 
better  promoted  in  this  way  than  by  all  the  scribblings  in  Chan- 
cery, or  the  brawlings  of  the  Council-House. 


THE  BUSY-BODY. 

The  great  day  at  last  appeared,  when  the  dangerous  state  of  the 
republic  was  to  be  considered.  Adventures  like  those  of  the  last 
week  had  from  time  immemorial  never  happened.  Jack  had  not 
been  idle.  He  had  paid  court  to  all  the  handsome  girls  in  town, 
and  had  sworn  that  it  was  only  for  their  sakes  that  he  had  sacri- 
ficed to  the  humpbacked  daughter  of  the  Chamberlain.  The 
grateful  maidens  had  therefore  provoked  their  mothers,  the 
mothers  their  husbands,  and  the  husbands  their  obliging  friends 
of  the  council,  against  the  indecently  long  queue  of  the  Town 
Secretary.  Every  one  expected  with  fear  and  trembling  the 
issue  of  these  things.  As  soon  as  the  town-clock  had  struck  the 
hour,  all  the  Lalenburgers  and  Lalenburgeresses  were  at  the 
Council-house,  in  spirit  if  not  in  body.  Many  mechanics  left 
their  work- benches,  the  smith  his  anvil,  the  miller  his  mill,  the 
weaver  his  loom,  to  await  in  the  park  before  the  Town-house,  the 
coming  forth  of  the  learned  gentlemen  who  would  let  them  know 
confidentially  what  would  be  the  probable  turn  of  affairs. 

The  Council  had  assembled  with  its  full  complement  of  mem- 
bers. During  the  first  silence  the  eyes  of  all  wandered  restlessly 
towards  one  or  the  other  of  the  heads  of  both  parties,  but  particu- 
larly towards  the  Secretary,  before  whom  there  lay  on  the  table 
several  pots  of  earthenware  and  a  mother-of-pearl  button. 


100 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


After  the  preliminary  business  had  been  disposed  of,  Sulks 
took  the  floor,  and  brought  forward  his  charges. 

"  Where  shall  I  find  words,"  said  he,  "  to  paint  the  ruin  which 
the  unquiet  spirit  of  one  of  our  own  citizens  has  brought  upon 
the  republic  ?  Since  the  founding  of  Rome  and  of  Lalenburg, 
many  men  have  lived  ;  but  not  one  of  all  have  been  able  in  so 
short  a  time,  with  such  small  means,  and  on  so  limited  a  theatre, 
to  work  so  much  mischief  as  Jack  Steam.  Yes,  O  fathers  of 
your  country,  I  name  him,  because  already  the  children  in  the 
streets  point  to  him  as  the  author  of  all  evil.  Where  is  there  a 
house  which  has  not  something  to  complain  of  him  ?  Are  secrets 
betrayed,  it  is  Jack  Steam  who  does  it !  Is  there  back-biting, 
Jack  Steam  helps  it  along  !  Do  the  nobility  quarrel,  Jack  Steam 
has  set  them  on  !  If  a  plan  miscarries,  Jack  Steam  is  the  man 
who  thwarts  it !  Is  a  betrothal  broken  off,  Jack  Steam  has  a 
hand  in  the  sport !  Is  an  enterprise  wrecked,  it  is  all  through 
the  awkwardness  of  this  same  Jack  Steam.  He  was  born  for 
the  misery  of  mankind,  has  his  nose  everywhere,  goes  every- 
where, will  know  all  things,  do  all  things,  improve  all  things, 
and  bring  all  things  into  confusion." 

After  this  opening,  the  orator  illustrated  his  points  by  many 
citations  from  the  well-known  history  of  the  town,  and  spoke  of 
recent  adventures,  of  the  fire,  of  the  smashed  crockery,  of  the 
fierce  encounter  between  the  guildmasters,  of  the  immeasurable 
astonishment  of  the  whole  town,  and  of  the  detrimental  effect  of 
this  upon  nervous  persons — the  sick  and  lying-in  women.  He 
spoke  so  movingly,  that  guildmaster  Crackle  could  not  withhold 
his  tears  at  the  reference  to  the  broken  pots ;  so  ardently,  that 
Chamberlain  Piphen  became  fiery-red  in  the  face,  and  shoe- 
maker Awl  clenched  his  fists.  Even  Jack  Steam  himself  for 
a  moment  seemed  to  lose  his  imperturbable  elevation  and  peace 
of  mind. 

But  he  soon  came  to,  and  began  his  defence  with  great  dignity 
and  clearness,  to  the  effect,  that  from  an  old  pot,  and  a  pearl  but- 
ton which  he  might  have  lost  in  the  streets,  they  could  prove 
nothing  against  him  ;  that  his  intimacy  in  the  families  of  the 
neighborhood  was  only  a  proof  of  the  strength  of  his  affection  for 
his  fellows,  and  the  profound  love  with  which  he  regarded  every- 


JACK  STEAM. 


101 


thing  that  related  to  Lalenburg.  As  it  concerned  the  fire,  the 
fault  was  not  his  that  the  engines  came  too  late,  since  the  mis- 
fortune was  not  spoken  of  until  after  it  had  happened.  But  even 
if  the  engines  had  made  their  appearance,  the  conflagration 
would  not  have  been  less,  because  the  machines  had  fallen  to 
pieces  from  age,  and  were  so  rotten  that  they  would  not  hold  a 
cup  of  water. 

The  Secretary  replied  to  him  with  vehemence,  insisting  that 
Jack  Steam  was  to  a  certainty  the  author  of  all  evil.  "  To  such 
an  extent  O  fathers  of  your  country,"  he  went  on,  "  has  this 
man  carried  it,  that  no  persuasions  are  necessary  to  make  me 
believe  that  the  bloody  Turkish  war,  that  the  pestilence  in 
Poland,  that  the  terrible  earthquake  in  Calabria,  that  the  last 
great  storm,  that  the  swallowing  up  of  the  Spanish  fleet  by  the 
sea,  that  all,  in  short,  are  not  to  be  ascribed  to  Jack  Steam  ! 
Since  he  came  within  our  walls,  confusion,  discord,  faction,  and 
tears,  have  been  the  order  of  the  day.  Lalenburg  still  stands ; 
but  we,  O  fathers,  shall  yet  behold  its  unhappy  ruin,  if  we  do 
not  forthwith  banish  this  Jack  Steam  beyond  the  sea.  Has  he 
not  brought  us  difficulties  and  terrors  enough  1  Would  you 
excite  a  civil  war,  murder  and  conflagration — the  overthrow  of 
this  excellent  Council-house — the  reduction  of  our  dwellings  to 
ashes  !"  Then  Sulks  went  on  to  elaborate  an  image  of  destruc- 
tion, which  made  the  hair  of  every  listener,  even  of  the  noble 
Jack  Steam  himself,  stand  on  end  with  fright,  and  all  believed 
that  another  siege  of  Jerusalem  was  to  be  enacted  at  the  very 
gates  of  Lalenburg. 

Anxiety,  fear,  doubt,  and  revenge-,  shone  in  every  counte- 
nance. Some  sank  down  half  powerless  upon  their  seats  ;  others, 
with  outstretched  nostrils,  swelled  with  courage,  and  cast  deadly 
glances  at  the  poor  Town-Architect ;  others,  in  stupid  astonish- 
ment, wished  to  fly  that  they  might  save  themselves  in  time,  or 
crawled  on  their  bended  knees  under  the  benches  ;  while  others 
longed  to  give  the  word  to  put  Jack  Steam  to  death,  only  their 
voices  were  so  thick  with  excessive  indignation  that  they  did  not 
succeed  in  making  themselves  heard. 

Suddenly  the  door  of  the  chamber  opened,  and  the  messenger 
came  in  with  a  letter  in  his  hand,  bearing  a  monstrous  great 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


seal.  He  gave  it  to  the  chief  burgomaster,  and  said  that  a 
courier  from  His  Highness  the  Prince  of  Lynxcrag  had  brought 
it.  Then  the  ears  of  all  were  eagerly  stretched  forward.  The 
burgomaster  laid  the  letter  down,  giving  it  a  majestic  look,  and 
mysteriously  whispering  on  both  sides,  "  Despatches  from  his 
High  Mightiness."  The  good  Lalenburgers  burned  with 
curiosity,  and  hung  with  their  eyes  fixed  upon  the  great  seal. 
The  siege  of  Jerusalem  appeared  to  have  been  soon  forgotten. 

As  the  presiding  burgomaster  unfolded  the  letter,  those  who 
sat  next  to  him  drew  as  near  as  they  could,  and  others,  that  they 
might  not  lose  a  single  syllable  or  breath,  discreetly  rushed  for- 
ward from  their  .seats,  so  that  they  came  to  sit  upon  the  laps  of 
the  former.  The  whole  chamber  was  empty  except  just  around 
the  Master,  where  head  crowded  upon  head.  There  reigned  the 
stillness  of  death.  Although  Lalenburg  had  had  some  business 
intercourse  with  the  Principality  of  Lynxcrag,  it  had  never 
before  happened  that  the  Prince  had  written  directly  to  the 
Council  of  the  republic.  The  burgomaster  very  properly  divined 
that  the  message  must  relate  to  some  affair  of  unusual  im- 
portance. 

He  began  to  read,  but  in  a  low  and  trembling  voice,  suitable 
to  the  solemnity  of  the  circumstances.  As  those  who  sat  behind 
did  not  perfectly  understand  the  first  words,  they  called  out, 
"  Read  louder  !  louder !"  By  that  means,  those  who  were  in 
front  were  disturbed,  and  unanimously  ordered  the  others  to  be 
still.  Thereupon  the  hindmost  quite  lost  all  that  had  been  read, 
and  repeated  their  calls  for  a  louder  enunciation,  while  some 
demanded  that  the  reader  should  begin  again  at  the  beginning. 
The  foremost  grew  impatient,  and  again  commanded  silence 
This  calling  back  and  forth  grew  stronger,  until  at  last  all  were 
provoked  into  a  tumult,  and  each  one  tried  to  raise  his  own  above 
the  voice  of  his  neighbor,  in  order  to  persuade  them  to  silence. 
Then  those  behind,  convinced  that  those  in  front  had  the  advan- 
tage in  being  near  to  the  reader,  moved  forwards ;  and  among 
others,  Jack  Steam,  as  quick  as  lightning,  sat  himself  directly 
under  the  nose  of  the  burgomaster.  The  Secretary  shouted 
until  he  became  cherry-brown  in  the  face,  that  Jack  Steam  had 
crowded  him  out  of  his  place ;  but  it  was  in  vain ;  for  others 


JACK  STEAM. 


103 


had  been  crowded  out  in  the  same  way.  Now  arose  a  frightful 
pushing  and  tearing  and  storming,  in  the  midst  of  cursing  and 
swearing,  and  praying  and  sighing,  for  the  restoration  of  order. 

In  this  tumultuous  movement  the  burgomaster  had  the  most  to 
bear,  for  against  him,  as  the  centre,  they  pressed  from  all  direc- 
tions. He  determined,  however,  that  he  would  make  himself 
heard  in  spite  of  the  storm.  He  rose  with  majestic  indignation, 
and  that  he  might  overtop  the  crowd,  stood  upon  his  chair.  But 
while  he  was  expressing  his  just  anger  with  a  thundering  voice, 
an  indiscriminating  push  of  the  multitude  struck  the  throne  from 
under  his  legs,  and  he  came  down  among  the  herd,  like  a  proud 
oak  among  an  undergrowth  of  shrubs.  His  peruke,  which,  rich 
in  powder  and  pomatum,  covered  the  face  of  the  collector  of  the 
customs,  and  made  him  rub  his  eyes  out,  was  seized  by  the  latter 
in  his  wrath,  and  converted  into  a  weapon  of  offence  and  defence. 
The  sight  of  this,  and  its  efficacy,  excited  others  to  the  wicked 
imitation  of  the  example.  Soon  no  peruke  was  any  longer  safe 
upon  its  skull ;  one  after  another  they  flew  over  the  heads  of  the 
mob,  like  mist,  scattering  clouds  above,  and  cries  of  pain  and 
murder  among  those  engaged  below. 

In  this  melancholy  confusion  of  affairs,  the  great  and  long- 
prepared  design  against  the  hair-tail  of  the  Secretary  w.as 
ripened.  One  of  the  Councilmen,  a  tailor  by  trade,  took  out  his 
shears,  and  followed  the  Secretary  as  he  ran  about  in  the  tumult 
like  a  long-tailed  rat.  In  a  jiffy,  the  tail  was  separated  from  his 
head,  without  the  least  misgiving  on  his  part  until  it  gave  him  a 
stroke  in  the  face.  Some  one  had  borne  away  the  trophy  from 
the  malicious  tailor,  and  as  it  was  about  a  yard  long,  made  use 
of  it  as  a  whip. 

When  the  Secretary  saw  his  pigtail  at  the  mercy  of  strangers, 
and  by  a  quick  grasp  of  the  back  of  his  neck,  concluded  that  he 
had  lost  his  treasure  for  ever,  he  raised  a  sorrowful  cry,  and 
with  eyes  full  of  tears,  and  hands  raised  to  Heaven,  called  its 
avenging  thunder  down  upon  the  head  of  the  transgressor.  He 
would  not  have  tormented  himself  as  much  for  the  loss  of  his 
head  itself  as  he  did  for  the  loss  of  his  hair!  His  howling  was 
so  unearthly  that  he  frightened  the  whole  assembly  in  the  height 
of  their  fray,  all  quarrels  were  forgotten,  and  suddenly  keeping 


104 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


silence,  they  surrounded  the  Miserable  One.  But  when  they 
found  out  that  neither  arm  nor  leg  was  wanting  to  him,  and  that 
only  his  illegal  and  inofficial  tail  was  gone,  they  all  laughed 
most  provokingly,  the  perukes  were  restored  to  their  proper 
owners,  and  each  one  regularly  resumed  his  seat  on  the  benches. 

The  burgomaster  shook  his  head  ominously  at  the  recent  dis- 
order, which  made  his  rough  wig  look  like  the  head  of  Medusa 
or  Titus.  Still  these  lively  debates  were  no  unheard-of  thing 
in  Lalenburg,  and  so  no  fuss  was  made  about  this  affair.  They 
saw  in  it  only  an  expression  of  citizen-like  independence  and 
true  republican  freedom  of  manners.  Each  one  took  his  own 
hair  back,  and  kept  his  clothes  together,  wherever  they  were 
torn,  with  his  fingers.  The  Secretary  laid  his  defunct  tail  near 
the  pot  and  button  on  the  table,  drying  his  eyes  with  a  colored 
pocket-handkerchief.  All  awaited,  with  renewed  reverence,  the 
reading  of  the  princely  letter.  But  this,  during  the  pulling  and 
hauling,  had  been  torn  into  many  pieces.  They  carefully 
gathered  the  scattered  particles,  laid  them  on  the  desk  before  the 
burgomaster,  and  left  it  to  his  wisdom  to  decypher  the  contents. 

This  was  no  easy  task,  for  the  pieces  were  so  manifold  that  a 
single  sentence  of  the  writing  could  not  be  made  out.  The 
Council  were  thrown  into  a  great  strait  and  embarrassment. 
Three  times  the  burgomaster  put  the  question,  as  to  what 
answer  should  be  sent  back  to  Lynxcrag,  and  three  times  the 
enlightened  assembly  shook  their  heads.  At  last  Jack  Steam 
rose  up,  and  proposed  that  they  should  announce  to  His  Princely 
Highness  that  his  message  had  been  received  and  lost,  and  that 
a  noble  and  learned  magistrate  should  entreat  him  to  be  good 
enough  to  write  his  commands  a  second  time. 

Jack's  advice  would  have  been  adopted,  had  not  Sulks,  who 
all  the  while  had  been  collecting  the  scattered  pieces  of  the  let- 
ter, begun  to  read  from  them  the  following  words, — "  Take — 
Jack  Steam — the  dog — a  thousand  guilders — the  price — of  his 
head"— 

Everybody  listened  with  mute  astonishment. 

"There,"  cried  the  Secretary,  "there  is  no  longer  any  doubt. 
Jack  Steam  has  again  been  perpetrating  some  silly  trick  which 
will  perhaps  bring  misfortune  upon  all  Lalenburg.    The  Prince. 


JACK  STEAM. 


105 


as  it  appears  to  me,  commands  us  that  we  should  take  Jack 
Steam.  He  himself  calls  him  a  dog  outright,  and  sets  a  price 
of  a  thousand  guilders  upon  his  head.  This  Jack  Steam  has 
undoubtedly  had  his  hand  again  in  some  forbidden  and  uncalled 
for  affair,  which  did  not  concern  him.  But  it  wont  do  to  eat 
cherries  with  great  lords.  Without  pretending  to  dictate,  my 
advice  is,  that  you  secure  the  accused  in  a  prison,  until  the 
Prince  has  been  informed  that  the  Council  were  ready  to  make 
every  satisfaction,  and  for  that  purpose  had  seized  the  much 
offending  Jack  Steam." 

The  proposal  of  the  Secretary  was  adopted  with  unanimity, 
as  much  as  Jack  protested  against  it,  and  averred  that  he  had 
never  in  his  life  had  anything  to  do  with  the  Prince.  They 
ordered  the  constables,  who  were  reckoned  among  their  parti- 
zans,  to  seize  him.  The  Major  pulled  his  big  feather  a  little 
further  out  of  his  hat,  put  himself  at  the  head  of  his  troops, 
and  led  the  condemned,  amid  a  large  concourse  of  people,  to  the 
town-jail. 


JACK  STEAM. 

The  intelligence  of  the  arrest  of  the  Town-Architect,  and  of  the 
anger  of  the  Prince  of  Lynxcrag,  caused  the  most  incredible  sur- 
mises. Every  man  cudgelled  his  brains  to  find  out  in  what  res- 
pect Jack  Steam  had  offended.  Indeed,  the  perplexity  was  so 
absorbing  that  they  did  not  once  miss  the  yard-long  tail  lost  from 
the  head  of  the  Secretary.  They  talked  only  of  Jack  Steam, 
the  busy-body,  and  no  one  seemed  to  doubt  his  probable  execu- 
tion. Some  conjectured  that  he  would  be  beheaded,  others  that 
he  would  be  hung,  and  still  others  that  he  would  only  be  burnt. 
Many  gave  out  that  the  solemnity  would  not  be  observed  in 
Lalenburg,  but  at  the  princely  residence  instead,  and  others 
rejoiced  at  this,  since  it  would  furnish  them  a  good  excuse  and 
pretence  for  visiting  the  palace.  Several  agreed  with  others 
that  they  would  make  the  journey  in  company  so  as  to  save  ex- 


106 


ZSCHOKKE'S  T^LES. 


pense.  All  the  carriages  and  horses  in  the  town,  at  that  early- 
day,  were  bespoken  and  laid  under  an  embargo.  The  tailor 
was  called  in,  and  measures  taken  for  new  clothes. 

Still  there  was  mingled  with  these  considerations  and  early- 
preparations,  some  Christian  piety,  when  they  thought  of  the. 
delinquent,  who  now  pined  in  the  prison,  awaiting  his  death. 
Jack  Steam,  whom  everybody  knew,  who  had  more  or  less 
busied  himself  in  every  household  ;  Jack  Steam,  whom  every 
mother  had  disposed  of,  or  wished  for  a  son-in-law  ;  whom  all  the 
girls  looked  at  askant  in  the  street,  but  always  with  the  most 
friendly  eyes  in  private ;  Jack  Steam,  a  vivacious  companion  at 
the  table,  an  elegant  speaker  in  council,  a  chatterer  over  his 
coffee  among  aunts  and  cousins,  the  most  zealous  respondent  in 
church  ;  Jack  Steam,  the  All  in  all,  the  Alcibiades  of  Lalenburg, 
in  prison ! ! 

The  quiet  anguish  of  compassion  first  seized  the  daughters, 
then  the  mothers,  and  finally  the  men.  Scarcely  had  the  dark- 
ness of  evening  arrived,  when  many  a  pretty  young  woman,  who 
at  other  times  would  fly  the  presence,  and  hardly  hear  the  naked 
name  of  an  unmarried  man  without  blushing,  would  trip  along  the 
street  of  the  jail  with  moist  eyes,  to  convey  something  to  the 
"poor  sinner,"  as  they  now  called  the  Architect.  One  brought 
sausages,  another  sugar-candy,  a  third  little  pasties,  and  a  fourth 
confections  and  raisins. 

"  Oh !  merciful  heaven  V  cried  the  old  women,  the  maid- 
servants and  the  little  chimney-sweeps,  who  had  remarked  this, 
"  already  his  hangman's  mealtime  has  come."  Throughout  the 
entire  citizen  class,  there  was  now  no  delay.  This  hangman's- 
meal,  or  farewell  meal,  that  we  speak  of,  was  a  custom  observed 
of  old  by  the  Lalenburgers  towards  a  criminal  sentenced  to 
death.  Some  day  before  the  execution  it  was  their  wont  to  send 
in  all  manner  of  eatables  and  drinkables,  whetner  he  wished 
them  or  not.  As  the  prison  at  this  time  was  on  a  level  with  the 
street,  and  a  hole  had  been  broken  in  the  wicker-work  of  the 
window,  through  which  things  could  be  conveyed  from  without 
(no  one  being  allowed  to  open  the  prison-door  without  a  special 
permit  from  the  authorities),  the  place  in  front  of  the  building 
»vas  thronged  till  midnight  with  givers.    Bread  and  cookies  of 


JACK  STEAM. 


107 


all  sorts,  hams,  sausages,  roast  goose,  chickens,  ducks,  pigeons, 
pastry,  apples,  pears,  &c,  then  bottles  of  beer  and  wine,  flasks 
of  liquor,  smelling-bottles,  crawled  through  the  hole.  The 
grocer  provided  the  "poor  sinner"  with  salt,  pepper,  cheese, 
butter,  and  smoking  and  snuffing  tobacco,  so  that  the  Town- 
Architect  was  in  danger  of  being  stuck  fast  in  the  midst  of  the 
enormous  quantities  of  things  which  were  poked  through  to  him. 
But  he  did  not  suffer  himself  to  be  seen  by  the  philanthropic 
donors,  and  never  answered  a  word  to  their  expressions  of  con- 
dolence. "He  is  so  ashamed,"  they  said  with  great  tenderness 
of  feeling,  "  that  he  keeps  himself  back  there  in  the  dark." 

For  once  this  tenderness  was  in  error,  for  the  Town-Architect 
was  not  in  the  town-prison.  When  the  Major  about  midday 
had  led  him  forth,  he  found  the  prison  in  the  best  condition,  but 
badly  preserved.  The  door  could  neither  be  locked  nor  bolted, 
inasmuch  as  both  lock  and  bolt  had  rusted  away  the  mouldy 
wood.  But  this  was  not  a  consequence  of  any  neglect  of  duty 
on  the  part  of  the  worthy  magistrates  of  the  republic,  but  be- 
cause of  a  forty  year  old  lawsuit  between  the  town  and  the 
county  (i.  e.  several  neighboring  villages)  relating  to  the  ques- 
tion, whether  the  expense  of  the  prisoners  should  be  borne  by  the 
town,  which  possessed  the  right  to  imprison,  or  by  the  county, 
the  inhabitants  of  which  had  the  privilege  of  being  imprisoned. 
It  had  never  entered  into  the  thought  of  man  that  a  citizen  of 
the  town  should  be  condemned  to  jail.  This  lawsuit  had  been 
conducted  by  the  Great  Council  of  the  republic  for  forty  years, 
and  was  not  yet  terminated.  Every  year  the  administration  of 
the  town  or  the  administration  of  the  county  gave  a  reconcilia- 
tion feast,  on  the  strength  of  the  so  called  "  undetermined  ex- 
penses," and  thereby  the  contending  parties  were  happily  mo- 
derated and  harmonized.  But  although  the  wine  and  roast  meat 
of  the  said  reconciliation  feast  tasted  very  nicely  to  both  parties, 
the  reconciliation  itself  was  never  brought  about,  partly  because 
they  feared  they  might  lose  the  prospect  of  new  feasts  for  the 
future,  and  partly  because  they  feasted  at  the  cost  of  the  one 
that  was  in  the  wrong,  yet  neither  of  them  would  be  in  the 
wrong. 

The  Major  immediately  perceived,  by  means  of  his  charac- 


108 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


teristic  sagacity,  the  little  deficiency  in  the  door,  so  that  instead 
of  locking  it,  he  nailed  it  fast,  covering  the  nail,  at  the  instiga- 
tion of  the  Secretary,  with  the  public  seal.  A  watchman,  one 
of  their  partisans,  was  placed  outside  to  remain  all  the  while. 
The  captive,  as  soon  as  he  was  in,  put  this  cogent  question  to 
the  watchman  : — "  How  a  prisoner  was  to  comport  himself  in 
certain  straits  which  naturally  happen  to  everybody  V  The 
watchman  considering  the  question,  thought  it  important 
enough  to  run  after  the  Major  and  Secretary,  who  were  not  far 
distant,  to  procure  their  solution  of  the  difficulty.  During  his 
absence,  the  Architect  examined  the  construction  of  the  door, 
and  as  the  hinge,  where  it  was  not  nailed  and  sealed,  easily  came 
out  of  the  worm-eaten  posts,  he  walked  forth,  and  then  putting 
the  hinge  back  in  its  place,  slipped  out  of  a  side  door,  without 
being  remarked. 

The  faithful  watchman  returned  with  the  unfeeling  command 
of  the  Major,  that  the  prisoner  might  deport  himself  in  the  cir- 
cumstances alluded  to,  in  the  best  way  he  could.  Thereupon 
the  sentinel  disclosed  his  sincere  compassion  ;  and  as  the  prisoner 
did  not  answer  a  syllable,  he  continued  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
comforting  him,  and  giving  him  good  advice,  when  he  ceased, 
contenting  himself  from  time  to  time  with  inspecting  the  nail  and 
the  seal. 


THE  BUSY-BODY. 

It  was  a  very  masterpiece  of  travelling  which  the  architect  per- 
formed from  the  prison,  through  the  town,  to  his  own  dwelling. 
He  reached  the  back  court  of  the  Town-house  by  means  of  a 
spacious  pen,  which  had  an  outlet  to  the  next  street.  In  this 
pen  the  hogs  belonging  to  the  government  were  fatted,  which 
hogs  Jack  took  occasion  to  give  the  liberty  to  come  out  into  the 
open  air.  Then  he  sprung  into  a  bakery  that  communicated  by 
means  of  a  gate  near  the  top,  with  the  houses  standing  upon  the 
further  street.  He  flew  nimbly  up  the  stairs,  found  the  gate  bar- 
ricaded by  a  parcel  of  meal  sacks,  shoved  the  sacks  off  into  the 


JACK  STEAM. 


109 


street  with  all  his  might,  and  before  the  sixth  sack  had  reached 
the  ground,  was  on  the  other  side  of  the  gate,  down  into  the 
street,  and  over  the  way  to  the  house  of  the  Major,  from  which, 
fuming  and  blowing,  he  found  a  path  to  the  place  where  not  long 
before  Mr.  Crackle  had  had  his  singular  misfortune  with  his 
crockery.  Here  wras  a  new  obstruction.  The  Major  had  built 
a  new  goose-pen  across  the  path,  in  which,  since  he  had  taken 
to  the  feather-business,  he  confined  immense  flocks  of  geese. 
Fortunately  the  pen  was  not  built  in  the  massive  order ;  and  the 
wooden  slats  flew  right  and  left,  under  the  hands  of  the  Architect, 
so  that  he  was  safe  in  his  own  house,  before  the  geese,  screaming 
and  fluttering,  for  having  gained  their  freedom,  could  testify  their 
joy  to  the  town. 

So  deeply  absorbed  were  the  Lalenburgers  with  the  occur- 
rences of  the  morning,  that  they  seemed  to  have  no  thought  about 
anything  else  than  the  arrest  of  the  Architect,  the  courier  of  the 
Prince,  and  the  tearing  of  the  despatch  which  had  been  sent  to 
the  council.  Yet  it  must  have  occasioned  some  unusual  remark 
when  suddenly  they  saw  the  hogs  of  the  beloved  Council,  burnt 
with  a  big  L  (for  Lalenburg)  wandering  over  the  town  ;  or  when 
the  air  was  darkened  with  clouds  of  meal  from  the  falling  and 
bursting  sacks,  or  when  at  last  the  Major's  flocks  of  geese  flew 
screaming  round  the  gable-ends  of  the  houses.  No  one  could 
make  out  why  these  wonders  should  happen  all  in  the  same 
neighborhood,  and  about  the  same  time.  One  person,  a  politician, 
suggested  that  the  adherents  of  the  condemned  Architect  designed 
to  create  a  public  uproar,  and  Secretary  Sulks  gave  out  that 
he  would  have  believed  it  to  be  Jack  Steam  himself  at  his  old 
tricks,  if  he  had  not  nailed  and  sealed  him  in  almost  the  very 
moment  that  the  hogs,  the  meal  sacks,  and  the  geese  had  made 
their  first  appearance  in  public. 

On  the  following  morning  as  the  more  thoughtful  revolved  the 
great  deeds  of  their  country,  particularly  the  expected  solemn 
execution,  and  all  the  accompanying  circumstances,  a  courier 
rushed  full  gallop  into  the  town  with  new  despatches  for  the  gov- 
ernment. Instantly  the  town  bell  was  sounded.  The  burgo- 
master and  the  Councilmen,  in  their  gowns  and  swords,  hastened 
to  the  extraordinary  session  with  countenances  full  of  profundity 


110 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


and  seriousness.  Many  people  ran  inquisitively  into  the  public 
park,  and  many  more  did  so  when  they  saw  the  coach  of  the 
Prince  drive  up,  for  the  purpose,  no  doubt,  of  carrying  away  the 
prisoner. 

The  session  was  opened.  The  burgomaster  laid  out  the  letter, 
broke  the  great  seal  in  the  presence  of  the  assembly,  and  began 
to  read  in  a  loud  voice  the  following — 

"  We,  Nicodemus,  Prince  of  Lynxcrag,  Count  of  Crowburg, 
Baron  of  Dockfield,  Lord  of  Sowwinkle  and  Foxtown,  to  the 
enlightened  Burgomaster  and  Council  of  the  noted  town  and  re- 
public of  Lalenburg,  send  greeting.  Most  honorable,  beloved, 
and  true  !  We  are  sorry  to  learn  that  our  message  to  you  was 
lost — for  it  was  to  this  effect — Whereas  one  of  your  accomplish- 
ed citizens,  named  Jack  Steam,  told  one  of  our  courtiers,  that  if 
he  should  only  undertake  it,  he  could  teach  a  dog  to  speak,  which 
would  be  particularly  pleasing  to  us,  so  that  no  price  would  be 
too  dear,  if  he  succeeded  in  bringing  our  favorite  dog,  Fidele,  to  a 
knowledge  of  human  speech,  which  is  a  very  difficult  matter, 
notwithstanding  his  natural  aptness,  seeing  that  the  dog  already 
comprehends  the  German  fully,  and  has  a  smattering  of  Italian 
and  French,  we  invite  the  aforesaid  Jack  Steam,  for  a  time,  to 
our  court,  sending  him  a  thousand  guilders  for  his  first  experi- 
ment, and  should  this  come  to  a  head,  should  he  succeed,  we 
will  make  him  High  Counsellor,  and  Instructor  to  our  princes, 
as  soon  as  they  grow  big  enough.  And  now  we  expect  from  you, 
most  honorable,  beloved  and  true  !  that  you  send  this  Jack  Steam 
to  us  directly  and  without  delay.    Hereof  fail  not." 

With  mute  signs  of  astonishment,  the  whole  assembly  listened 
to  this  annunciation.  Not  a  soul,  from  the  Secretary  and  First 
Councillor  down  to  the  doorkeeper,  who  did  not  keep  his  mouth 
wide  open  for  two  minutes  after  there  was  nothing  more  to  be 
heard.  Even  the  presiding  burgomaster,  when  he  laid  down  the 
letter,  did  not  close  his  lips,  and  stared  quite  vaguely  into  the 
air. 

Some  wondered  at  the  favorite  dog  of  his  Highness,  which 
was  already  accomplished  in  three  languages ;  others  over  the 
till  now  unknown  skilfulness  of  Jack  Steam  in  teaching  dogs  to 
speak,  others  reverentially  considered  the  dignity  and  offices  to 


JACK  STEAM. 


Ill 


which  the  Architect  had  been  suddenly  raised  just  when  he  ex- 
pected a  contrary  elevation  ;  and  others  dreaded  the  revenge  of 
the  great  man,  translated  from  a  prison  to  the  neighborhood  of  a 
throne,  when  he  should  once  get  the  town  and  republic  in  his 
power.  The  dead  silence  of  astonishment  was  soon  changed 
into  tumult,  as  each  one  wished  to  proclaim  how  that  yester- 
day he  had  protested  against  the  arrest  of  the  Architect.  No 
one  was  concerned  in  that,  but  Secretary  Sulks.  In  the  midst  of 
all,  some  broke  out  in  lofty  praises  of  the  godlike  Jack  Steam, 
whom  they  called  the  Pride  and  Ornament  of  his  native  country, 
whilst  others  enumerated  how,  the  evening  before,  from  pure  at- 
tachment, they  had  poked  costly  spices  and  drinks  into  the  little 
hole  in  the  lattice  of  the  prison.  Sulks  chewed  his  pen  in  igno- 
miny, and  stood  as  the  scapegoat  of  the  nation.  Even  he  was 
anxious  to  reconcile  himself  to  his  great  enemy. 

Accordingly  he  was  the  first  to  propose  tfiat  a  deputation  of 
the  Council  be  sent  to  fetch  the  distinguished  High-Counsellor 
from  the  prison,  and  carry  him  in  triumph  to  the  town-house  ; 
then  they  must  formally  ask  his  pardon  for  the  misunderstanding 
of  yesterday,  set  him  in  the  place  of  honor  by  the  side  of  the  pre- 
siding burgomaster,  when  the  letter  should  be  read  to  him  ;  and 
lastly,  would  he,  as  he,  ?.  e.  the  Secretary  ought,  crave  his  mer- 
cy, and  commend  his  native  land  and  his  fellow  citizens  to  his 
affection,  so  that  Jack  Steam  might  never  turn  against  Lalen- 
burg,  as  Coriolanus  once  did  against  Rome. 

Let  no  one  wonder  at  this  sudden  change  of  opinion.  Circum- 
stances among  them  so  easily  altered  principles,  friendships, 
hatreds,  oaths  and  inclinations,  that  he  whom  they  would  have 
yesterday  trodden  under  foot,  because  of  his  misfortunes,  to-day 
they  would  crawl  upon  all  fours  to  propitiate.  They  call  it  the 
Way  of  the  World,  Politics,  Prudence,  and  they  find  the  practice 
of  it  profitable,  so  that  it  is  diligently  pursued. 


JACK  STEAM. 


Jack  Steam,  who  knew  his  fellow  citizens  very  well,  sat  fearless 
and  contented  in  his  own  house,  where  his  old  housekeeper  sup- 


112 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


plied  him  with  food.  He  knew  that  in  a  few  days  everything 
would  be  changed  ;  that  his  deai  Lalen  burgers,  great  in  words, 
but  little  in  deeds,  even  if  he  should  be  discovered,  would  not 
touch  a  hair  of  his  head.  He  moreover  comforted  himself  in  the 
certain  knowledge  that  he  had  never  hurt  a  flea  of  the  Prince 
of  Lynxcrag. 

But  when  his  faithful  housekeeper,  who  went  out  from  time  to 
time  to  get  the  news  of  the  town  and  the  proceedings  of  the  council, 
told  him  the  singular  story  that  he  had  been  dubbed  High-Coun- 
sellor by  the  Prince  in  order  to  instruct  the  favorite  dog  in  the 
German  grammatics  ;  that  a  deputation  of  the  Council  had  waited 
upon  him  in  vain  at  the  town  jail  ;  that  the  whole  town  was  in  an 
extraordinary  amazement,  both  on  account  of  his  disappearance, 
and  as  to  the  mode  in  which  it  was  effected,  especially  when  it 
was  shown,  after  the  narrowest  scrutiny,  that  neither  wall  nor 
window,  neither  nail  nor  seal,  had  been  injured — Jack,  we  say, 
quite  regretted  his  flight.  But  to  bring  the  matter  in  its  proper 
track,  he  dressed  himself  in  his  showiest,  lighted  his  tobacco  pipe, 
stationed  himself  conspicuously  at  the  open  window,  smoked  in 
comfort,  and  accosted  in  a  friendly  way  everybody  that  passed. 
By  this  he  hit  his  mark  ;  for  each  one  stopped  and  gaped  at  him 
in  surprise,  the  report  flew  swift  as  lightning  over  the  town  that 
the  mysteriously-disappearing  High-Counsellor  was  smoking  his 
pipe  at  his  window  ;  and  all  ran  thither  to  convince  themselves  of 
the  truth  of  the  report.  In  less  than  half  an  hour,  the  street  was 
thronged  with  people  from  one  end  to  the  other,  the  honorables  of 
the  town  hastened  to  the  neighborhood  of  his  acquaintances  and 
friends,  head  crowded  upon  head  out  of  the  windows,  while  the 
chimney-sweeps,  masons,  carpenters  and  more  daring  boys,  chose 
places  on  the  roofs  of  the  opposite  houses,  to  see  the  new-made 
High-Counsellor,  who  regarded  the  multitude  with  curiosity  and 
pleasure,  as  though  we  were  quite  astounded  by  their  respect. 

With  unwearied  courage,  the  deputation  from  the  Council 
worked  their  way  to  his  house  through  the  throng  in  the  streets. 
He  received  them  with  condescending  kindness.  The  burgo- 
master had  placed  himself  at  their  head,  and  opened  his  address 
with  the  words,  "  Mighty  and  well-born  Lord  High-Counsellor  of 
the  Prince  !    How  shameful  is  it  that  our  dear  native  town  should 


JACK  STEAM. 


113 


prove  what  was  said  in  the  Scriptures  to  be  true,  1  that  a  prophet 
is  not  without  honor  save  in  his  own  country.'  "  Upon  this  text 
the  speaker  spun  out  a  long  salutatory  discourse,  which  in  the 
midst  of  flattering  compliments,  and  excuses  for  the  mistake  of 
yesterday,  ended  with  some  wise  advice.  Thereupon  the  mes- 
sage of  the  Prince  was  disclosed.  All  the  councillors  wept  tears 
of  joy.  The  potential  Architect  made  an  exquisite  reply,  which 
lasted  so  long  that  the  people  had  almost  deserted  the  streets,  and 
the  deputation  ceased  to  shed  their  tears  of  joy.  Then  appeared 
the  coach  of  the  Prince,  and  the  High-Counsellor  was  informed 
that  he  was  expected  that  very  evening  at  the  royal  residence. 
There  was  now  no  delay.  Jack  jumped  into  the  royal  carriage, 
and  drove  away,  amid  the  mingled  sobs  and  shouts  of  the  popu- 
lation which  had  nourished  so  great  a  man. 

Jack  Steam  was  obliged  to  go  that  same  evening  to  His  High- 
ness. Prince  Nicodemus  was  a  very  nice  gentleman,  who  only 
needed  an  empire  to  make  him  one  of  the  greatest,  of  monarchs  ; 
he  was,  however,  a  very  small  monarch,  with  a  great  many 
debts.  He  very  properly  considered  hunting  as  the  noblest 
enjoyment,  and  from  that  you  may  guess  that  more  dogs  lived 
at  his  court  than  men.  Other  society  did  not  please  him. 
Though  he  was  no  misanthrope,  he  would  sometimes  inti- 
mate to  his  confidential  friends,  that  with  the  exception  of  the 
hunters,  he  would  give  a  great  deal  if  his  true  and  beloved 
subjects  could  be  changed  into  stags  and  roes,  wild  boars,  hares, 
wild  geese,  ducks,  snipes,  partridges,  and  so  forth.  He  thought 
they  would  then  give  him  more  pleasure,  and  be  of  more  use. 

"  Listen !"  said  the  Prince  to  his  newly  created  Court-Coun- 
sellor, who  was  kissing  his  coat  tail  with  humble  submission  : 
"  Are  you  the  one  who  can  teach  dogs  to  speak  ?  Here  is 
Fidele.  What  a  pity  that  the  poor  beast  cannot  express  itself 
in  words  ;  but,  upon  my  honor,  she  comprehends  every  syllable 
I  say  to  her."  Nicodemus  then  commanded  the  dog  in  French, 
German  and  Italian,  to  do  various  things ;  and  the  dog  executed 
his  orders  with  wonderful  precision. 

"Hey,  what  do  you  say  to  that?"  asked  the  Prince,  pleasure 
beaming  from  his  eyes. 


9 


114 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


"  As  your  Highness  commands  !"  answered  the  Lalenburger. 
"  Do  you  think  you  can  teach  Fidele  to  talk  ?" 
"  If  you  let  us  have  time  enough  — " 

"  There  shall  be  no  difficulty  about  that.  Listen  ;  begin 
with  German ;  French  can  be  taken  up  afterwards  when  the 
beast  has  made  some  progress  in  the  mother- tongue.  You  can 
live  here  in  the  castle  with  me.  The  steward  will  show  you  a 
room,  but  you  must  attach  the  dog  to  you  first,  so  that  she  will 
remain  willingly  with  you.  If  you  do  your  business  well,  you 
shall  be  handsomely  rewarded.  Now  and  then  I  shall  inquire 
how  she  gets  on  with  her  lessons.    Do  you  understand  French  ?" 

"  Your  Highness,  I  understand  it  sufficiently  well  to  instruct 
the  amiable  Fidele  ;  but  it  was  always  difficult  for  me  to  speak 
French,  owing  to  a  malformation  of  my  tongue.  It  sometimes 
happens  that  I  cannot  pronounce  the  word  which  I  wish  to 
speak." 

"  And  Italian  ?" 

"  Your  Highness,  I  began  to  learn  it  at  the  University,  but 
unfortunately  it  is  a  long  time  since." 

"  Well,  well,  then  let  it  alone,  mon  cher." 

"  Your  Highness,  I  am  very  sorry,  but  I  have  not  got  them." 

«  What  ?" 

"  The  shears." 

"  Why,  what  shears  ?  What  a  stupid  reply  !  I  did  not 
speak  of  any  shears.    But  n'importe." 

"  Thank  your  Highness,  I  am  fond  of  port,  but  I  prefer  sau- 
sages and  Madeira." 

The  Prince  laughed  at  Jack's  mistake. 

"  Now  go !  Tell  them  to  show  you  a  room,  and  to  bring  you 
some  good  sausages  from  my  kitchen,  for  Fidele  is  fond  of 
them.    You  will  quickly  win  her  heart  with  them." 

The  Court-Counsellor  observed  that  the  door  was  pointed  out 
to  him,  and  approached  it  backwards  with  many  bows,  not  wish- 
ing to  show  the  Prince  such  a  want  of  respect  as  to  turn  his 
back  upon  him.  But  Fidele,  a  strong  hunting  dog,  ran  unex- 
pectedly between  his  legs,  and  he  fell  down  in  such  a 
clownish  way,  that  his  feet  were  elevated  high  above  his  head. 
Jack  Steam  heaved  a  deep  sigh,  the  dog  yelled  with  fright,  and 


JACK  STEAM. 


115 


Nicodemus  almost  laughed  himself  sick.  "  Well,  you  are  be- 
ginning to  get  acquainted  already  !"  cried  the  Prince,  and  the 
Court-Counsellor  ran  out  of  the  door,  making  a  thousand  apolo- 
gies. 


THE  BUSY-BODY. 

In  the  course  of  four  weeks,  and  with  the  aid  of  the  court-cooV, 
Jack  Steam  won  the  entire  affection  and  confidence  of  the 
Prince's  favorite  dog.  From  this  time  the  Prince  often  inquired 
if  he  advanced  any  in  teaching.  The  cunning  Court-Counsellor 
remarked  to  his  Highness  that  it  takes  a  child  four  or  five  years 
to  learn  to  speak,  and  that  it  could  scarcely  utter  single  syllables 
at  the  end  of  one  year.  Nicodemus  thought  this  was  very 
reasonable,  and  restrained  his  impatience.  Jack  Steam,  how- 
ever, whose  life  at  court  was  very  comfortable,  took  the  matter 
quite  quietly.  Now  and  then  he  was  a  little  uneasy,  when, 
after  having  repeated  the  same  word  a  thousand  times  to  the 
dog,  he  found  he  had  produced  no  impression.  The  dog  would 
look  attentively  at  her  teacher,  but  seemed  quite  too  bashful  to 
pronounce  the  words  after  him. 

Jack  Steam  fortunately  remembered  a  wag  whom  he  had 
known  among  the  students  of  the  University,  who  was  in  the 
habit  of  secretly  squeezing  and  pinching  his  poodle's  snout,  to 
make  him  snarl  and  growl.  If  he  relaxed  his  hold  at  the  pro- 
per time,  the  pressure  on  the  open  mouth  of  the  dog  would 
make  him  in  anger  pronounce  distinctly  Mama.  Jack  Steam 
tried  it  with  Fidele,  and  succeeded  beyond  his  expectations.  At 
the  end  of  six  months,  when  Nicodemus  asked  the  Court-Coun- 
sellor rather  peevishly  how  Fidele  came  on,  this  gentleman 
praised  his  pupil  extravagantly,  and  offered  to  give  a  proof  of 
her  first  childish  stammering.  The  Prince  assembled  his  confi- 
dential, and  the  Court-Counsellor,  with  his  scholar,  entered  the 
circle  in  a  most  assured  manner. 

The  Court-Counsellor,  in  a  long  and  excellent  speech — full 


no 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


of  the  pedagogue — observed,  that  in  teaching  he  closely  followed 
the  course  of  Nature,  as  that  was  the  best.  That  bringing  up 
and  instructing  a  child  scientifically  was  nonsense,  weakening 
to  its  intellect,  and  hurtful,  not  only  to  the  present  generation, 
but  to  all  posterity.  That  the  misfortunes  of  kingdoms,  the  fall 
of  great  nations,  and  all  the  evil  in  the  world,  were  owing  to  bad 
management  in  the  first  lessons.  In  connexion  with  these  re- 
marks, he  gave  hopes  that  philanthropy  might  yet  induce  him 
to  teach  the  secret  of  his  new  method  of  spelling  for  one  hun- 
dred  and  twenty  thousand  gulden,  and  mentioned  a  great  project 
— a  new  primer,  full  of  copper  plates,  to  be  published  accord- 
ing to  his  own  ideal,  and  dedicated  to  His  Highness  Prince 
Nicodemus,  the  patron  and  protector  of  scientific  and  literary 
men. 

From  this  he  proceeded  to  an  explanation  of  the  process  of 
Nature  in  teaching  mankind.  "  Who,"  said  he,  "  who  does  the 
child  first  recognize  and  learn  to  love  ?  It  is  its  mother.  And 
its  mother's  tenderness  is  most  touchingly  rewarded  by  its  first 
stammering.  The  sweet  name  of  mother  is  the  first  word  which 
passes  the  tender  unpractised  lips  of  childhood  !  And  thus  I 
have  commenced  with  the  talented  and  amiable  Fidele.  Now, 
Fidele,  come  here,  be  good  and  tell  the  noble  company  the  name 
of  thy  mother." 

With  these  words  he  took  the  dog  coaxingly  in  his  arms,  held 
her  nose,  and  pinched  and  punched  her  behind  until  she  bellowed 
out,  "  Mama  !"  in  a  deep,  bass  voice. 

Everybody  present  broke  into  loud  and  almost  inextinguish- 
able laughter,  giving  evidence  thereby  either  of  their  approba- 
tion or  their  astonishment.  The  Court-Counsellor's  learning,  and 
Fidele's  bass  voice,  made  the  thing  irresistibly  funny.  The 
Court-Counsellor  was  cheered  by  the  merriment,  and  caused  the 
favorite  to  repeat  his  performance,  until  the  laughter  changed 
into  screaming,  and  the  Prince  begged  him  for  peace  sake  to 
make  Fidele  stop. 

His  Highnesstwas  so  delighted,  that  he  kissed  the  dog,  and 
pressed  her  to  his  heart,  and  in  his  joy  he  even  forgot  himself  so 
far  as  to  embrace  the  Court-Counsellor,  who  received  the  com- 
pliments of  the  court  with  modest  self-possession-    The  Prince 


JACK  STEAM. 


117 


gave  his  dog  some  sweet  biscuit,  and  encouraged  her  to  con- 
tinue her  application.  He  presented  the  Court-Counsellor  with  a 
golden  snuff-box  containing  a  miniature  of  the  Sovereign.  Jack 
Steam,  excited  by  gratitude,  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  I  will  answer  for 
it,  the  dog  shall  soon  say  papa  to  your  Highness !" 

« Then  you  shall  have  an  additional  salary,"  answered  the 
Prince  ;  and  took  leave  of  the  counsellor  in  the  most  gracious 
manner. 

But  Jack  Steam  did  not  succeed  so  quickly  with  the  word 
papa,  When  Nicodemus  inquired  again  after  the  dog,  the 
counsellor  remarked  that  Fidele  would  unquestionably  be  soon 
confined,  and  that  in  her  situation  it  was  best  to  avoid  all  mental 
exertion. 

To  this  the  Prince  agreed,  and  Jack  Steam  thus  gained  time 
and  peace,  or  might  have  done  so,  had  he  had  the  desire. 

He  was  well  known  all  about  the  palace,  was  trusted,  and  his 
opinion  asked  about  matters  great  and  small  ;  he  talked  with 
everybody,  was  sarcastic,  impudent  or  consequential,  just  as 
he  pleased,  knew  all  that  was  going  on,  decided  everything, 
arranged  everything. 

Every  day  he  rose  in  the  estimation  of  the  Prince,  and  there- 
fore in  that  of  the  inmates  of  the  palace,  and  with  the  courtiers, 
who  called  him  merely  the  Favorite.  The  town-counsellors  of 
Lalenburg  sent  a  deputation  regularly  every  month,  to  inquire 
after  the  health  of  their  noble  citizen  ;  they  honored  him  by 
naming  the  narrow  lane  where  his  father's  house  stood,  "  The 
Steamy  Lane,"  and  even  went  so  far  as  to  hang  up  his  silhouette 
in  the  council  chamber,  as  they  possessed  neither  likeness  nor 
bust  of  him. 

Even  the  privy-counsellors  of  the  Prince  courted  him,  that  they 
might  through  him  influence  his  Highness,  particularly  as  Nico- 
demus was  determined  to  collect  a  land  tax,  that  he  might  con- 
tinue his  praiseworthy  expenses.  As  the  privy-counsellors  were 
against  the  proclamation  of  this  tax,  the  people  being  already  suffi- 
ciently burdened  with  duties  of  all  kinds,  they  turned  to  Jack 
Steam,  and  beggpd  him,  in  the  name  of  his  oppressed  country, 
to  persuade  the  Prince  to  refrain  from  these  exactions. 

"  Nothing  easier  than  that,  gentlemen  !"  said  the  Court-Coun- 


118 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES 


sellor,  with  his  peculiarly  consequential  manner,  and  went  to  the 
Prince. 

"But  listen,"  said  Nicodemus  to  him,  "I  must  have  the 
money.    Only  procure  the  money,  and  then  I  need  not  collect 

taxes." 

"  Nothing  easier  than  that !"  returned  the  Court-Counsellor. 
"  How  much  does  your  Highness  require  ?" 
"  The  more  the  better." 

"  Very  well.  Your  Highness  need  only  set  up  a  small  traffic 
in  the  way  of  ribbons, — that  will  bring  in  enormous  sums  of 
money." 

"  A  ribbon-store  ?  Listen  !  You  are  not  Jack  Steam,  but 
Jack  Fool.    I  am  no  Jew." 

"  Your  Highness  will  only  please  to  sell  half  a  yard  of  ribbon 
for  one  hundred  Nicodemus  d'or,  and  

"  Who  will  pay  me  that  ?" 

"  If  your  Highness  would  create  a  new  order  of  knighthood, 

for  instance,  in  honor  of  the  Saint  of  the  Hunters  say — 

St.  Nimrod's  order.  Every  Nimrod  Knight  who  has  the  cross 
of  the  order,  the  knightly  strike,  and  a  hanger,  pays  one 
hundred  Nicodemus  d'or ;  but  for  the  great  order,  when  every 
knight  receives  a  green  ribbon  for  his  button-hole,  with  a  golden 
image  attached  to  it  of  a  handsome  fowling-piece  and  a  bugle 
laid  across  it — you  must  have  a  thousand  Nicodemus  d'or  duly 
registered.  If  you  institute  all  kinds  of  festivities  to  accompany 
the  installation — I  know  how  much  effect  that  had  in  my  uni- 
versity days — " 

"  Listen,"  said  the  Prince,  interrupting  him.  "  You  are  truly 
not  a  Jack  Fool.  We  will  think  of  the  thing.  You  may 
order  the  ribbon  instantly  at  the  manufactory,  and  let  the 
jeweller  make  the  other  contrivances.  I  will  make  you 
Chancellor  of  this  Order  of  Nimrod." 

No  tax,  in  fact,  ever  brought  so  much  money  into  the  princely 
coffers  as  this  same  ribbon-traffic  ;  as  the  Lalenburger  very  im- 
properly called  it.  For  scarcely  was  it  known  that  the  Prince, 
his  half  brother,  the  Count  of  Crowburg,  and  Jack  Steam,  the 
Chancellor  of  the  Order,  had  appeared  with  the  Nimrod 
ribbon,  and  could  become  Nimrod's  Knights  by  paying  rather 


JACK  STEAM. 


119 


a  high  price  for  being  registered,  than  they  all  crowded  to  the 
Chancellor's.  Each  exchanged  his  Nicodemus  d'or  for  a  half 
yard  of  ribbon,  for  none  would  be  behind  the  rest  in  rank.  In 
a  short  time  even  the  wig-makers  wore  the  little  green  ribbon. 
This  aroused  the  proper  pride  of  the  nobility  and  wealthy  men 
of  the  land.  How  could  they  stand  on  a  level  with  common 
people  ?  They  would  rather  sell  house  and  land,  that  they 
might  wear  the  broad  ribbon  with  the  golden  Nimrod's  Horn. 
The  whole  country  was  full  of  green  ribbons  and  of  debts.  Prince 
Nicodemus  was  overjoyed,  but  his  faithful  ministers  cursed  the 
inventive  faculties  of  the  new  Chancellor,  and  learned  from 
experience,  that  no  Jack  Steam  should  be  made  the  minister  of 
Finances,  any  more  than  a  stork  should  be  turned  into  a  gar- 
dener. 


J.ACK  STEAM. 

Jack  Steam  had  neither  too  much  nor  too  little  conscience,  as 
it  should  be  with  a  great  minister,  who  would  rather  have  a 
province  perish,  than  have  one  of  his  whims  miscarry  ;  and  who 
is  not  discouraged  even  when  a  whole  nation  suffers  from  his 
administration.  One  day  when  a  faithful  minister  was  pointing 
out  the  sad  effects  of  the  Nimrod  rage,  he  answered,  "  As  true 
as  my  name  is  Jack  Steam,  everything  good  has  its  evil,  and 
all  evil  has  its  good.  If  a  minister  was  obliged  by  law  to  pre- 
vent all  complaints,  and  a  physician  to  cure  all  his  patients,  who 
would  be  either  a  minister  or  a  doctor  ?  Therefore,  my  dear 
friends,  be  encouraged.  God  has  so  well  regulated  the  world, 
that  we  may  go  bungling  about  for  a  long  time  without  actually 
spoiling  anything !" 

In  truth  this  great  maxim  was  nowhere  better  observed  than 
among  the  Lynxcragers,  for  all  possible  and  impossible  theories 
had  been  successively  tried  for  the  last  hundred  years,  without 
making  it  a  desert,  or  extinguishing  the  race.  Each  new  prince 
or  minister  made  new  regulations,  and  repealed  the  old  ones. 
One  builds  convents,  the  next  turns  them  into  dairies  ;  one 


120 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


erects  manufactories  on  the  credit  of  the  State,  the  next  stops  the 
manufactories,  and  sells  regiments  of  young  men  like  any  other 
'  produc*  of  the  soil  ;  one  wishes  to  turn  the  State  into  a  great 
hareem,  the  next  wants  it  to  be  a  single  large  park.  It  is  re- 
markable, however,  in  this  as  in  other  cases  of  oppression,  that 
the  people  increased,  and  fed  themselves  just  as  before,  as 
soon  as  they  had  reflected  and  become  accustomed  to  the  great 
truth,  that  they  were  created  for  their  master's  pleasure,  and 
afterwards  their  own. 

Of  course  they  were  obliged  to  conform  to  the  newest 
system ;  to-day  to  the  left,  to-morrow  to  the  right ;  to-day 
forwards,  to-morrow  backwards.  All  the  mischief  done  by  the 
order  of  Nimrod  did  not  diminish  the  respect,  esteem,  love  or 
admiration  with  which  the  Chancellor  was  greeted  wherever  he 
went ;  for  he  was  the  right  hand  of  a  prince  whom  the  people 
idolized. 

Envious  people  were  not  wanting,  but  he  scarcely  noticed 
them.  He  was  so  secure  in  the  good  graces  of  his  master,  that 
he  did  not  even  fall  in  his  estimation  when  Fidele  was  taken 
sick  and  died.  Without  doubt  he  was  the  victim  of  court  in- 
trigue or  a  conspiracy,  for  the  doctor  found  traces  of  poison  in 
his  body.  A  report  was  officiously  brought  to  his  highness,  that 
the  Chancellor  had  probably  sent  his  pupil  out  of  the  world  to 
avoid  teaching  him  to  speak  ;  as  he  would  be  obliged  finally  to 
confess  that  he  was  a  mere  boaster,  and  had  never  understood 
the  art.  But  the  tears  which  Jack  Steam  had  shed  were  too 
sincere,  and  the  whole  court  had  shown  too  open  an  indifference  at 
the  death  of  the  noble  beast,  for  Nicodemus  to  be  deceived  by 
malicious  calumnies.  A  marble  obelisk,  which  had  been  or- 
dered from  one  of  the  most  celebrated  Italian  sculptors,  was 
erected  to  "  the  incomparable  dog,"  and  placed  in  the  Castle 
garden  under  weeping  willows  and  cypresses. 

It  could  not  be  said  that  Jack  Steam  had  friends,  for  who  has 
friends  at  a  court  or  in  the  great  world?  and  who  would  be  the 
friend  of  a  man  who  belonged  to  all  the  world  as  did  Jack 
Steam  ?  But  the  Chancellor  did  not  lose  by  this  ;  he  was  the 
confidant  of  all,  even  of  the  Prince  and  his  half-brother,  the 
Count  of  Crowburg,  who  called  him  his  Indispensable.  Every 


JACK  STEAM. 


121 


one  smiled  upon  him,  and  he  returned  the  smiles.  Even  the 
pretty  female  Lynxcrageresses  smiled  on  him,  for  he  was  an 
amiable  man,  who  never  took  anything  amiss,  and  who  found  all 
his  happiness  in  increasing  the  pleasure  of  others. 

To  be  sure  he  did  not  always  succeed,  and  then  he  had  to 
put  up  with  bitter  vexation  and  ingratitude  for  his  pains.  I 
will  take  the  history  of  a  single  day  as  an  instance. 


THE  BUSY-BODY. 

The  Count  of  Crowburg  had  cherished  a  little  love  affair  for 
some  time  at  the  Capital.  Miss  Sabina,  a  pretty  little  brunette, 
felt  much  flattered  by  the  Count's  adoration,  and  very  willingly 
gave  him  a  private  meeting  now  and  then  ;  when  they  admired 
each  other  without  spectators.  Her  father  got  wind  of  the  mat- 
ter, was  very  much  vexed,  and  gave  the  beautiful  coral  lips  of 
his  daughter  some  very  prosaic  slaps.  Herr  von  Tasseltuft, 
as  he  was  called,  was  but  a  common  nobleman,  though  of  very 
ancient  family,  and  thought  it  outrageous  that  the  grand-daugh- 
ter of  that  hero  (who  was  groom  of  the  chamber  to  the  Emperor 
Karl  the  Great),  should  condescend  to  be  the  object  of  a  tem- 
porary passion,  or  perhaps  the  mistress  of  a  larking  gentleman. 
And  from  that  time  he  carefully  watched  his  daughter, —  who 
had  less  ancestral  pride, — so  that  the  lovers  could  only  cast 
stolen  glances  at  each  other  once  a  week  in  church. 

The  Count  very  naturally  fell  into  the  proper  state  of  despair, 
discovered  his  sorrows  to  the  Chancellor,  and  promised  him 
mountains  of  gold  if  he  would  only  procure  him  one  interview 
with  his  beloved. 

"  Nothing  easier  than  that !"  said  Jack  Steam,  and  imme- 
diately sought  Miss  Sabina  at  a  party.  Blushing,  she  remarked 
to  the  trusty  confidant  of  her  lover,  that  she  dared  not  move 
one  step  without  her  father's  knowledge,  but  that  if  he  could 
persuade  her  stern  father  


122 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


"  Nothing  easier  than  that !"  said  Jack  Steam,  and  went  the 
next  day  to  Herr  von  Tasseltuft,  and  spoke  so  touchingly  of 
the  Count's  love  for  Sabina,  and  made  such  earnest  representa- 
tions of  the  dangerous  effects  of  his  severity  on  the  unfortunate 
lovers,  that  the  proud  old  gentleman  could  not  do  otherwise  than 
approve  of  their  love ;  that  is,  if  the  Count  would  promise  his 
daughter  marriage  in  the  presence  of  her  parents. 

"Nothing  easier  than  that !"  said  the  ambassador:  "  but  ar- 
range that  yourself  with  the  Count.  I  will  write  to  him  imme- 
diately— for  since  yesterday  he  has  been  atCrowburg — that  this 
evening  at  eight  o'clock,  all  obstacles  being  removed,  he  may 
pay  his  respects  to  Miss  Sabina." 

Pleased  with  having  accomplished  his  undertaking,  he  imme- 
diately wrote  to  the  Count  not  to  fail  coming.  It  did  not  occur 
to  him,  that  far  from  thinking  of  a  festive  betrothal,  the  Count 
only  wanted  to  chat  for  an  hour  alone  with  his  inamorata  in 
her  boudoir.  Herr  von  Tasseltuft,  on  the  contrary,  understood 
it  to  be  a  formal  wooing  of  Sabina  by  the  brother  of  the  Prince, 
and  therefore  invited  the  entire  Tasseltuft  family  to  a  magnifi- 
cent entertainment.  Sabina  in  full  dress,  amidst  a  circle  of 
forty  cousins,  aunts,  and  other  female  relations,  awaited  her 
lover  in  triumph,  whilst  he  only  aspired  to  passing  a  modest 
pastoral  hour  with  her. 

In  the  evening  he  entered  the  Tasseltuft  house  as  quietly 
and  secretly  as  a  thief,  half  disguised  in  a  coarse  great  coat. 
He  secretly  cursed  the  blazing  lights,  and  hid  himself  in  an 
angle  of  the  stairs  because  so  many  servants  were  running 
about,  and  there  he  peeped  until  he  saw  the  well-known  and 
trusty  maid  of  Sabina.  In  answer  to  the  whispered  question, 
'•  In  which  room  is  the  young  lady,"  the  servant  conducted  him 
thither.  But  when  the  door  opened,  who  can  describe  the 
amazement  of  the  Count,  when  instead  of  flying  into  the  arms 
of  his  beloved,  he  stumbled  into  the  large  brilliant  state-room 
full  of  people,  who  expected  him  and  surrounded  him  with  bows 
and  curtsies  ! 

Jack  Steam  certainly  might  have  spared  this  cruel  dilemma  to 
the  confused  noble,  had  he  given  a  verbal  account  of  his  mis- 
sion, instead  of  writing  a  few  lines.    But  the  Chancellor  had  a 


JACK  STEAM. 


little  love  affair  of  his  own  on  hand,  and  had  laid  a  plan  fof 
surprising  his  beloved  that  same  day,  in  the  most  agreeable 
manner.  His  charmer  was  truly  a  very  pretty  girl,  and  a 
countrywoman  besides.  Her  name  was  Joanna,  the  daughter  of 
the  Apothecary  Twirl,  of  Lalenburg,  who  had  come  to  live  with 
a  rich  old  aunt  in  Lynxcrag,  and  was  expected  to  be  her 
heiress.  The  old  aunt  was  an  ill-natured  aunt,  who  was  al- 
ways praying,  and  instead  of  taking  her  to  concerts,  balls,  and 
plays,  only  took  her  to  the  prayer-meetings  of  the  pious  and 
godly  people.  And  the  old  aunt  did  not  seem  to  like  it,  when  the 
boasting  peasant,  as  she  called  Jack  Steam,  talked  too  often  to 
his  pretty  countrywoman.  This  gave  him  great  sorrow,  and 
he  therefore  made  use  of  every  opportunity  to  see  Joanna. 

He  saw  her  that  morning,  though  only  for  a  few  moments,  as 
he  passed  her  in  the  street,  and  spoke  of  his  wish  to  visit  her  in 
the  evening.  She  shrugged  her  shoulders,  but  regretted  that  she 
was  to  spend  the  evening  in  a  company  of  young  ladies,  who 
were  in  the  habit  of  having  weekly  meetings  at  a  certain  place. 
Her  vanity  prevented  her  from  owning  that  she  was  going  to  a 
prayer  meeting  with  her  aunt.  "And  where  is  it?"  asked  the 
Court-Counsellor.  She  designated  the  house.  "  Will  they 
dance  ?"  She  smiled,  blushed  and  said  :  "  Unfortunately  they 
do  not !  The  utmost  will  be  singing."  He  continued  :  "  Would 
they  allow  an  uninvited  friend  to  enter  ?  For  if  I  can  but  see 
you,  I  should  be  happy  wherever  it  was."  She  blushed  again, 
stammered,  "  I  do  not  know  !"  and  slipped  away.  Jack  Steam, 
however,  like  a  good  Lalenburger,  took  the  blushes  and  smiles 
of  the  Lalenburgeress  for  an  invitation,  and  the  mute  expression 
of  her  secret  wishes. 

He  immediately  called  around  himself  several  young  gentle- 
men of  the  city,  for  the  purpose  of  embellishing  the  party  of 
young  ladies  by  their  presence.  If  they  could  not  justify  the 
intrusion,  they  could  compensate  for  it  in  a  measure  by  some  at- 
tentions of  another  kind.  They  would  privately  order  some 
music,  and  the  young  gentlemen  (who  would,  without  doubt, 
find  many  of  their  amiable  acquaintances  among  the  ladies), 
should  then  appear  in  ball  masquerade.  "  And  then,"  said 
Jack  Steam,  delighted  with  his  plan  :  "  when  the  young  ladies 


124 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


are  sitting  at  their  tea-tables,  or  at  cards,  or  talking  over  some 
tiresome  nonsense ;  and  suddenly  hear  a  lovely  waltz  at  the 
dcor,  and  we  enter  in  masks  and  invite  the  beauties  to  dance — 
they  will  none  of  them  resist,  and  all  will  be  forgiven  and  for- 
gotten.   Of  course  we  can  make  our  excuses  afterwards." 

They  were  all  pleased  with  the  idea  of  this  entertaining  adven- 
ture. Music  and  the  most  elegant  masquerades  were  ordered 
with  the  greatest  secrecy,  and  also  the  place  and  time  of  meeting 
at  dusk  agreed  upon.  When  the  long  desired  moment  came, 
Jack  Steam  was  the  first  on  the  spot.  The  musicians  assembled  ; 
the  dancers  dressed  themselves,  and  being  wrapped  in  cloaks,  slid 
into  the  house,  which  was  easily  distinguished  for  some  distance 
by  the  row  of  well  lighted  windows,  that  indicated  the  assem- 
bly-room. The  door-keeper,  when  asked  in  what  room  the  as- 
sembly were,  pointed  the  way,  though  not  a  little  astonished  at 
seeing  the  musicians  who  accompanied  them  ;  for  the  pious  of 
either  sex  had  never  made  use  of  flutes,  fiddles,  or  bugles,  in 
their  edifying  sessions.  They  approached  the  door  of  the  hall 
on  their  toes,  threw  off  their  cloaks,  drew  down  their  masks,  and 
made  ready  in  the  deepest  silence. 

In  the  mean  time  the  small  community  of  chosen  believers 
were  sitting  together  in  blessed  devotion,  and  listened  to  an  edi- 
fying statement  by  their  deacon,  of  the  joy  and  blessedness  of 
the  heavenly  Jerusalem,  where  the  lambs  sit  on  the  throne  with 
the  banner  of  victory.  The  good  old  mothers  were  ranged  along 
the  walls  with  clasped  hands,  and  the  lay-brothers  also,  with 
their  heads  hanging  between  their  shoulders  ;  and  now  and  then 
a  quiet  sigh  of  longing  for  the  Heavenly  Zion  would  escape  from 
their  lips.  The  younger  women  were  not  affected  until  the 
speaker  painted  the  beauty  of  the  angels,  the  floating  of  the  Che- 
rubim around  the  throne  of  glory,  the  festive  Hallelujahs,  and 
the  music  of  the  spheres. 

At  that  moment  the  musicians  before  the  door  began  a  merry 
waltz,  first  very  softly,  then  with  increasing  sound.  At  first  the 
godly  assemblage  thought  they  heard  the  music  of  the  spheres 
in  reality,  and  the  preacher  became  more  ardent  and  seemed 
filled  with  rapture.  The  younger  Christians,  though  spiritually 
in  the  Heavenly  Zion,  tapped  the  time  with  their  feet,  as  will 


JACK  STEAM. 


happen  even  to  the  most  pious  girls,  on  hearing  the  very  worst 
dancing  music.  But  when  the  bugles  sounded,  and  the  tones 
from  the  spheres  became  more  earthly,  the  speaker  stopped,  and 
the  community  of  the  elect  could  not  comprehend  the  cause  of 
this  worldly  vanity  nor  what  would  be  its  effect. 

Suddenly  the  doors  of  the  meeting-room  were  thrown  open, 
and  six  or  eight  light-footed  masks  entered,  the  musicians  fiddling 
and  blowing  behind  them.  Whilst  these  were  placing  them- 
selves, the  masks  raced  about,  bowing  joyfully  through  the 
room,  and  the  whole  assemblage  of  devout  worshippers  sat  as  if 
turned  into  statues  at  the  sight  of  their  performance  !  Jack  Steam 
and  his  companions  who  came  there  to  dance,  took  no  notice  of 
their  surprise,  or  that  almost  all  of  them  had  prayer-books  in 
their  hands.  The  last  thing  they  would  have  thought  of  was 
the  occupation,  or  the  sacred  objects  of  this  religious  meeting. 

But  one  thing  displeased  them ;  they  could  find  but  two  or 
three  young  ladies,  all  the  rest  being  respectable  matrons. 
Jack  Steam  took  Joanna,  the  other  young  ladies  were  invited, 
and  as  a  virtue  must  be  made  of  necessity,  the  rest  of  the  dancers 
caught  hold  of  the  old  ladies.  They  thought  it  very  natural  that 
the  young  ladies  should  resist  a  little,  but  they  drew  them  along, 
the  music  became  brisker,  and  they  made  them  waltz,  whether 
they  would  or  not.  All  this  took  place  so  quickly  that  no  one 
had  time  to  deliberate,  and  the  remainder  of  the  congregation 
could  neither  move  nor  speak  in  their  astonishment. 

There  was  but  one  of  the  ladies  of  a  certain  age,  who  abso- 
lutely would  not  be  drawn  into  the  whirling  eddies  of  the  waltz, 
and  who  took  the  whole  phenomenon  for  a  regular  temptation  on 
the  part  of  Beelzebub,  and  protested  against  the  performances  in  a 
very  noisy  and  decided  manner.  It  was  the  widowed  High 
Court-cook,  a  pious,  broad,  robust  lady.  She  had  been  seized 
by  the  merriest,  wildest  fellow  among  the  dancers,  and  though 
she  worked  hard  to  loosen  herself  from  him,  he  clung  to  her  like 
a  burr,  skipping  around  her  as  he  tugged  her  on.  Enraged  she 
finally  pressed  towards  him,  and  with  one  blow  felled  him  to 
the  earth,  though  not  without  keeping  him  company.  Her 
shocking  screams  excited  the  rest  of  the  good  to  a  revolt 
against  the  profaners  of  their  sanctuary.     Men  and  women 


126 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


grasped  their  prayer-books,  and  marched  in  solid  columns  against 
the  dancers  and  musicians.  The  dancers,  surprised  at  being 
treated  so  uncivilly  and  ungratefully,  let  their  partners  go,  and 
began  to  offer  excuses.  It  was  not  so  with  the  orchestra  ;  some 
one  threw  a  singing  book  with  massive  silver  clasps  into  a  cor- 
ner, as  a  random  shot,  but  it  walked  into  the  belly  of  a  base 
viol,  and  the  angry  musician  did  not  delay  revenging  the  death  of 
his  growling  friend,  but  handled  his  fiddle-bow  unmercifully  on 
his  assailant.  The  rest  of  the  musicians  saw  themselves  obliged, 
from  necessity,  to  change  their  violins,  bass-viols,  and  bugles,  into 
defensive  armor. 

It  was  with  great  difficulty  that  the  more  reasonable  of  both 
parties  could  put  an  end  to  the  strife.  The  dancers  explained 
that  their  intentions  were  good,  and  begged  pardon  for  their  mis- 
take, and  Jack  Steam,  who  turned  out  the  author  of  the  mischief, 
had  to  be  so  kind  as  to  pay  the  entire  damages.  They  were 
generous  enough  to  dispense  with  the  payment  of  a  dole-bote, 
notwithstanding  that  they  all  suffered  from  smarts  and  bruises. 


JACK  STEAM. 

Next  day,  the  affair  made  quite  a  noise  in  the  city.  To  this 
was  added  the  vexatious  fate  of  the  Count  of  Crowburg  in  the 
Tasseltuft  family,  for  they  also  came  to  explanations,  and  all 
the  blame  fell  on  Jack  Steam.  Everybody  abused  him  but 
Prince  Nicodemus,  who  laughed  loudly.  The  Count  cursed 
and  swore  at  his  awkward  negotiator,  would  have  nothing  to  do 
with  him,  and  forbad  his  entering  the  house.  The  pious  aunt  of 
Joanna  Twirl  did  the  same,  and  immediately  sent  her  niece 
back  to  her  father  in  Lalenburg. 

All  this  did  not  disturb  the  Court-Chancellor.  Conscious  of 
his  own  innocence  and  good  intentions,  he  joyfully  went  on  his 
way,  consoling  himself  with  the  saying,  that  ingratitude  is  the 
reward  of  the  world,  and  that  the  works  of  great  men  are  gene- 
rally unappreciated  by  their  contemporaries.    Besides,  so  long  as 


JACK  STEAM. 


127 


he  stood  in  the  favor  of  the  Prince,  he  was  considered  a  very- 
estimable  man,  both  in  court  and  city,  whose  words  were  ora- 
cles, and  whom  every  body  flattered. 

His  Highness,  the  Prince,  put  such  confidence  in  the  Chancel- 
lor, that  he  appointed  him  one  of  the  Embassy,  which  was  des- 
tined to  fetch,  from  the  court  of  her  father,  the  Princess  of  Mouse- 
home,  the  future  wife  of  the  Lord  of  Lynxcrag.  As  the  rest 
of  the  Ambassadors  were  almost  all  old  gentlemen,  the  Princess 
was  very  gracious  to  Jack  Steam,  for  youth  is  sometimes  a  great 
virtue.  The  favor  of  the  Princess  was  not  an  easy  purchase,  for 
she  had  many  strange  whims,  which  are  very  becoming  things 
in  a  beautiful  Princess.  As  she  was  in  the  habit  of  having  a 
new  whim  every  day — for  a  habitual  whim  is  no  whim  at  all — her 
attendants  often  found  it  difficult  to  ascertain  which  was  the  right 
one.  She  was  very  charming,  had  very  weak  nerves,  and  there- 
fore loved  everything  soft  and  gentle,  particularly  cats.  She 
always  had  in  her  suite  some  of  the  most  beautiful  and  friendly 
of  these  dear  creatures,  of  all  colors  and  all  sizes.  Each  of 
her  maids  of  honor  had  two  or  three  cats  to  take  care  of. 

Now  as  the  Prince  had  the  same  affection  for  dogs  that  the 
Princess  possessed  for  cats,  it  was  feared  that,  according  to  the 
old  proverb  about  dogs  and  cats,  the  approaching  marriage 
would  not  be  one  of  the  most  blessed  in  the  world.  In  spite  of 
that,  numberless  flattering  poems  were  written  about  the  high 
nuptials  ;  and  they  very  properly  made  speeches,  and  painted 
allegories  full  of  prophecies  of  a  golden  age,  where  strength 
and  loveliness,  wisdom  and  beauty,  were  united — just  as  they 
always  do  on  such  occasions.  A  great  many  good  things  in  this 
world  are  mere  figures  of  speech. 

The  respect  shown  to  the  Chancellor  by  the  Princess  of 
Mousehome — whose  nuptials  were  to  be  celebrated  at  the  Border- 
Castle — increased  the  public  estimation  of  noble  Jack  Steam. 
Therefore,  whatever  he  chose  to  say  or  to  write,  was  eagerly 
caught  up  and  repeated  by  all  listeners,  reporters,  readers,  or  hear- 
ers, and  even  printed  in  the  newspapers.  Now,  as  Jack  Steam 
had  the  delightful  gift  of  being  a  great  talker,  and  very  fluent,  it 
was  always  his  mind,  or  his  word,  which  swayed  public  opinion. 
At  the  palace,  his  descriptions  of  the  charms  of  the  future  sove- 


12S 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


reign  Princess,  and  her  tender  love  for  cats,  were  read  with 
rapture.  In  her  triumphal  entrance  into  the  Capital,  besides 
the  illumination,  he  said  they  must  think  especially  of  making 
a  fine  display  of  cats.  The  hint  was  taken,  and  every  one 
would  have  the  prettiest  of  these  little  beasts,  white,  spotted, 
black,  brown,  grey,  and  tin-colored,  in  order  to  recommend 
themselves  to  the  Princess.  Cats  were  ordered  from  far  and 
near,  and,  although  many  came,  still  the  prices  of  cats  were 
raised  for  ten  miles  around. 


THE  BUSY-BODY. 

The  entrance  of  the  young  couple  into  the  Capital  was  very 
magnificent.  Numbers  of  triumphal  arches  almost  darkened 
the  streets,  and  very  tasteful  pictures  of  cats  were  not  only  put 
in  every  arch  to  delight  the  eyes  of  the  Princess,  but  one  of  the 
triumphal  arches  was  ingeniously  made  of  a  concatenation  of 
stuffed  cats,  that  looked  as  if  they  were  chasing  each  other. 
There  were  cats  in  all  the  windows,  but  generally  these  behaved 
very  badly  and  squalled,  probably  from  a  very  unnecessary  fear 
of  falling  down.  This  universal  miauling  was  so  remarkably 
piercing  and  loud,  that  the  little  children  were  terribly  fright- 
ened, and  added  their  screams  to  the  prevailing  melodies.  The 
royal  pointers,  greyhounds  and  watch-dog,  that  ran  forward  of 
the  carriages,  and  the  dogs  of  the  citizens  who  were  attracted  by 
curiosity  into  that  street  like  other  spectators,  saw  and  heard 
this  countless  number  of  their  natural  enemies  with  the  greatest 
amazement,  and  fell  into  a  strong  commotion.  Some  sprang 
barking  to  the  right  and  left,  others  dashed  against  the  walls  of 
the  houses  in  their  rage,  and  the  rest  yelped  in  imitation,  or  from 
sympathy. 

This  obstreporous  conversation  between  the  dogs  and  cats, 
made  it  exceedingly  difficult  to  understand  a  single  human 
word.  Some  spectators  who  wished  to  restore  the  former  re- 
spectful silence,  cried  :  "  Away  with  the  dogs  !  "  others,  on  the 
contrary,  cried  :  "  Away  with  the  cats  !  "  And  their  zeal  helped 


JACK  STEAM. 


129 


to  raise  such  a  tumult  of  discords,  that  even  the  horses  began  to 
shy.  They  were  obliged  to  hold  them,  particularly  under  the 
principal  arch  in  the  middle  of  the  city,  where  a  magistrate 
en  corps  (meaning  bodily)  was  to  give  an  excellent  speech,  of 
his  own  preparation,  upon  the  rapture  of  the  people. 

He  placed  himself  opposite  the  princely  pair,  who  sat  in 
the  state  carriage,  and  began  his  speech.  But  the  screaming, 
barking,  mewing  and  halloing  were  such,  that  he  perceived  he 
must  exert  his  organs  of  speech  to  the  utmost,  or  all  his  fine 
remarks,  and  extraordinary  similes  about  flowers,  and  so  forth, 
would  all  be  lost.  Fortunately,  he  was  a  very  strong  man,  and 
not  wanting  in  voice,  it  having  been  exercised  for  twenty  years 
in  the  Council-Hall.  He  actually  did  out-scream  the  dreadful 
racket,  though  it  turned  his  face  the  color  of  a  cherry.  The 
nervous  Princess  in  the  carriage,  in  anguish  of  soul,  put  her 
fingers  in  her  ears,  and  Nicodemus  swore  to  the  right  and  left 
out  of  the  boot.  As  not  a  word  of  this  was  heard  in  the  uni- 
versal outcry,  the  people  thought  that  the  Prince  was  expressing 
his  thanks  for  the  love  of  his  faithful  subjects,  and  there  arose 
a  joyful  huzza,  and  cries  of  "  Long  life  to  the  Pair."  In  the 
papers  and  journals  of  that  day  was  written  an  account  of  the 
enthusiasm  of  the  people,  the  warm  acknowledgments  of  the 
Father  of  the  Country,  and  the  deep  emotion  manifested  by  the 
Princess,  who  did  in  fact  begin  to  cry,  finding  she  could  obtain 
no  relief.  This  declaiming,  or  rather  screaming,  civil  officer 
took  the  greater  part  of  these  precious  tears  as  a  consequence 
of  his  very  affecting  speech,  and  addressing  himself  especially 
to  the  Princess,  inserted  a  comparison  between  herself  and  the 
goddesses  of  high  Olympus,  and  did  not  stop  until  he  had  ar- 
rived happily  at  the  end  of  the  last  phrase. 

Then  the  princely  carriage  rolled  off  to  the  Castle  at  a  full 
gallop.  Everybody's  ears  rung  for  two  hours  afterwards, 
particularly  those  of  the  nervous  Princess.  Her  ears  were  so 
sensitive  that  no  one  dared  to  speak  aloud  to  her,  or  make  use  of 
more  than  whispers  ;  and  her  great  sorrow  was  the  being  obliged 
to  be  present  that  evening  at  a  concert  in  the  Court-Chapel.  Out 
of  a  tender  regard  for  his  young  wife,  Nicodemus  had  forbid- 
den the  Chapel-Master  to  use  any  wind  instruments,  even 
10 


130 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


a  flute.  Yet  this  did  not  quiet  her,  and  she  told  the  Chancellor 
in  confidence,  that  if  the  concert  must  take  place,  she  would  be 
much  obliged  to  him  if  he  would  persuade  the  Chapel-Master  to 
play  so  low  that  it  could  scarcely  be  heard. 

Jack  Steam  was  ready  to  do  it,  but  the  Chapel-Master  made 
a  strong  resistance  to  a  constant  Pianissimo ;  and  everybody 
knows  that  artists  have  their  peculiarities.  He  promised  to 
have  the  instruments  tuned  before  the  princely  pair  appeared, 
that  their  Highnesses'  ears  might  be  spared  all  unavoidable 
and  disagreeable  discords.  He  also  promised  to  make  another 
selection  of  pieces  which  might  be  soft  enough,  but  he  would  not 
give  up  a  rather  noisy  and  brilliant  overture,  which  was  of  his 
own  composition,  and  from  which  Trumpets,  Kettle-Drums, 
Bassoons,  Clarionets,  and  other  Wind  Instruments,  had  already 
been  excluded. 

This  determination  on  the  part  of  the  immovable  Chapel- 
Master,  naturally  put  the  serviceable  Chancellor  into  great 
embarrassment ;  but  he  yet  hoped  to  find  some  expedient,  and 
did  find  it.  To  mitigate  the  sharp,  piercing  sounds  from  the 
violins,  he  stealthily  went  into  the  orchestra  before  the  arrival  of 
the  Court,  and  rubbed  all  the  fiddle-bows  with  soap.  The  Court 
arrived.  The  artists  of  the  Chapel  entered  the  orchestra  from 
an  ante-room,  took  their  proper  places,  the  Master  at  the  head. 
He  raised  his  paper  wand,  and  at  the  first  tap,  the  harmonies 
of  the  brilliant  orchestra  were  to  be  poured  forth. 

But  this  time  Jack  Steam  was  right ;  for  at  the  first  tap  all 
the  fiddle-bows  worked  actively  up  and  down  the  violins,  but  no 
sound  came — a  deathlike  silence  prevailed.  The  Chapel-Master 
cast  a  furious  glance  at  his  colleagues,  raised  his  arm  again, 
and  signed  to  them  to  begin  anew,  by  a  deep  bend  of  his  body. 
The  violins  put  themselves  in  motion,  but  the  second  manoeuvre 
was  as  fruitless  as  the  first.  The  princely  auditory  feared  that 
they  were  struck  with  deafness,  and  the  suspicion  of  the  Master 
that  he  was  not  obeyed  from  envy  must  be  forgiven.  Full  of 
suppressed  rage,  he  exclaimed  in  an  under  tone  to  the  orchestra, 
"  Well !  are  you  going  to  begin  ?  "  And  he  turned  round  to 
look  at  the  fiddlers,  raised  his  arm,  made  a  sign  for  the  third 
time,  whilst  the  amazed  artists,  nearly  frightened  to  death 


JACK  STEAM. 


131 


worked  away  at  their  violins.  And  now  the  Chapel-Master 
nearly  fainted  when  he  saw  that  the  fiddlers  were  impotent,  and 
that  the  whole  Court  were  laughing,  all  but  the  Prince,  who 
thought  a  great  deal  of  his  choir,  and  wished  to  win  some  honor 
thereby  from  his  wife.  He  was  quite  angry  at  the  speechless- 
ness of  the  instruments,  told  the  Chapel-Master  to  go  to  the 
devil,  and  left  the  Hall  with  the  Princess  and  the  whole  Court. 
The  cause  of  the  three  fruitless  attempts  on  the  brilliant  over- 
ture could  not  long  remain  a  secret.  Jack  Steam  had  blabbed 
himself.  Perhaps  the  Princess  with  weak  nerves  would  have 
been  his  grateful  intercessor,  had  she  not  learned  at  the 
same  time  that  the  influence  of  Jack  Steam  had  raised  the 
triumphal  arches  and  cat-gates  ;  and  also,  that  he  was  the  prin- 
cipal cause  of  the  dreadful  cat-squalling,  for  which  she  asserted 
she  never  could  forgive  him  in  her  life.  Therefore,  the  fall  of 
the  Chancellor  was  unavoidable.  The  Princess,  in  one  of  her 
caprices,  requested  him  to  leave  the  Court,  and  the  Prince,  to 
satisfy  both  himself  and  his  wife,  ordered  him  out  of  the 
country. 

Jack  Steam,  whose  evil  genius  was  now  uppermost,  scratched 
his  head,  and  sighed,  "Ingratitude  is  the  reward  of  the  world  Vs 
packed  his  things,  and,  wrapped  in  his  virtues,  travelled  on  to 
Lalenburg. 


JACK  STEAM. 

A  great  man  is  great  even  in  his  fall.  His  descent  makes 
kingdoms  tremble.  When  Alexander  died,  his  immense  sway 
from  the  mouth  of  the  Danube  and  the  Nile,  to  the  Indus  and 
the  Ganges,  disappeared  in  a  stream  of  blood  :  and  the  Empire 
of  Charles  the  Great  was  scattered  when  its  creator  died.  And 
thus  did  all  traces  of  the  state  of  Lynxcrag  disappear,  after 
the  fall  of  the  great  Jack  Steam,  for  a  great  war  both  by  land 
and  sea  between  England  and  France  was  a  consequence  of  the 
resignation  of  the  Chancellor  of  the  order  of  St.  Nimrod.  This 
will  be  easily  seen  and  proved  by  the  private  histories  of  the 


132 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


several  Courts  at  that  time,  but.  they  are  too  long  and  tiresome 
to  print  here. 

The  Ex-Chancellor  had  scarcely  left  the  Capital,  when  a 
French  extra  courier  arrived  inquiring  for  Jack,  as  he  wished  to 
deliver  him  a  package.  This  attracted  some  attention,  as  Germany 
was  not  on  good  terms  with  France  at  that  time.  Prince  Nico- 
demus  was  informed  of  the  arrival  of  the  extra  courier,  and  the 
enemies  of  the  banished  Jack  Steam  intimated  that  very  possibly 
he  had  a  treacherous  correspondence  with  the  French  crown. 
Nicodemus  thought  it  very  probable — for  he  well  understood  the 
character  of  Jack  Steam,  the  busy-body,  and  gave  orders  for  the 
arrest  of  the  extra  courier,  who  had  already  departed  ;  but  he 
was  caught  and  brought  back  again.  He  did  not  deny  his  being 
acquainted  with  Jack  Steam  ;  but  no  one  would  believe  that  the 
package  which  he  had  brought  for  him,  was,  as  he  asserted,  a 
peruke  of  the  newest  fashion,  bought  at  a  great  city,  to  oblige 
Jack  Steam,  and  now  sent  on  to  Lalenburg. 

A  request  was  therefore  transmitted  to  the  magistrate  of  that 
city,  that  he  should  forward  the  box  and  forthwith  arrest  the 
Chancellor,  for  there  were  probably  traces  of  a  great  conspiracy 
against  the  Holy  Roman  Empire  within  the  package.  The 
Magistrate  of  Lalenburg  eagerly  obeyed  ;  but  his  curiosity  forced 
him  to  open  the  box,  that  he  might  see  himself  the  traces  of  this 
tremendous  conspiracy.  The  majestic  Algonquin-Peruke  set  the 
wits  of  the  Councillors  on  a  stretch,  to  ascertain  in  what  dangerous 
relations  this  hairy  creation  stood  to  the  Holy  Roman  State.  A 
long  debate  ensued. 

The  extra  courier  might  make  as  much  noise  as  he  liked  about 
the  haste  and  importance  of  his  commission ;  wait  he  must,  until 
the  matter  was  concluded.  They  found  nothing  on  him  but  a 
package  of  most  beautiful  sables  and  ermine,  with  a  letter  from 
the  Keeper  of  the  Wardrobe  to  his  Majesty,  the  King  of  France. 
But  the  King  had  personally  ordered  the  costly  ermine  and  sable 
which  he  had  promised  his  mistress,  on  New  Year's  day,  for  it 
was  the  most  recent  Parisian  fashion  for  ladies.  Until  then  the 
wife  of  the  English  ambassador  had  had  the  pleasure  of  wearing  the 
finest  ermine  before  the  eyes  of  the  whole  Court.  New  Year's 
day  came,  and  no  extra  courier.    It  was  in  vain  that  the  King 


JACK  STEAM. 


133 


put  the  Keeper  of  the  Wardrobe  into  the  Bastilc  to  justify 
himself  in  the  eyes  of  his  capricious  mistress.  She  cried  with 
rage,  that  on  New  Year's  day  the  proud  Englishwoman  would 
surpass  her  in  magnificence,  and  would  not  grant  the  monarch 
the  least  favor.  The  King  was  in  the  greatest  consternation,  but 
received  no  hope  of  mercy,  until  he  promised  to  make  the  haughty 
Englishwoman  leave  France.  Opinions  had  been  equally  divided 
in  the  Cabinet  on  the  question  of  war  with  England,  on  ac- 
count of  some  unanswered  claims.  The  King  now  decided  for 
"  War,"  and  the  English  Ambassador  had  to  leave  Paris  imme- 
diately, and  of  course  the  lady  with  costly  furs  went  also.  Blood 
flowed  in  streams,  both  by  land  and  by  sea.  States  were  lost 
and  won  in  battle  ;  some  were  even  annihilated,  as  was  the  case 
with  Lynxcrag  ;  for,  when  the  courier  had  justified  himself, 
he  arrived  too  late  at  Paris :  but,  having  explained  the  cause  of 
his  detention,  the  fall  of  the  house  of  Lynxcrag  was  sworn — 
and  the  oath  kept. 

These  tears,  wars,  streams  of  blood  and  unsettling  of  kingdoms, 
were  solely  caused  by  the  fall  of  the  great  Jack  Steam.  Had 
he  remained  the  favorite  of  the  Prince,  he  would  have  explained 
the  origin  of  the  peruke,  without  being  suspected  and  accused 
of  bearing  no  love  to  his  Fatherland. 


THE  BUSY-BODY. 

Jack  Steam,  as  I  said  before,  took  his  way  to  Lalenburg,  but 
thousand-tongued  rumor  had  announced  his  disgrace  even 
before  his  arrival.  The  worldly-wise  burgomasters  immediately 
took  down  the  silhouette  of  the  Ex-Chancellor  from  the  Assem- 
bly Hall,  and  came  to  the  conclusion  of  never  giving  the  sur- 
name of  Great  to  a  mortal  in  his  life-time,  or  to  erect  memorials 
of  him,  such  as  obelisks,  statues,  silhouettes,  pyramids,  and  so 
forth.  No  Lalenburger  would  now  own  that  he  had  ever 
courted  Jack  Steam  ;  all  the  city-councillors  denied  having 
sent  deputations  to  him  ;  every  one  declared  that  their  relations 
with  him  had  never  been  friendly  ;  they  wrote  libels  and  satiri- 


134 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


cal  songs  about  the  "  Ex-Great  Man."  Now  they  all  called 
him  the  small  man,  and  many  found  him  so  small,  that  they 
could  not  remember  whether  they  had  ever  known  him  or  not. 

Jack  Steam  must  have  been  really  surprised  at  the  short 
memory  of  the  Lalenburgers,  for  on  arriving  at  his  native  town, 
everybody  stared  at  him  as  if  they  knew  nothing  of  him,  and 
he  were  an  utter  stranger  to  them.  This  did  not  annoy  him, 
particularly  as  he  noticed  that  the  damsels  had  the  longest 
memories.  He  therefore  said  something  sweet  to  all  of  them, 
and  promised  each  that  she  should  be  the  lady-mayoress  when 
lie  became  mayor,  and  a  girl  does  not  forget  that  so  easily.  He 
mentioned  the  mayoralty  because  the  officiating  officer  had 
shortly  previous  broken  his  neck  one  night  by  falling  into  a 
grave-pit,  to  which  he  had  delayed  putting  a  new  balustrade 
instead  of  the  old  rotten  one  which  stood  on  its  steep  sides. 
The  "  blessed  dead"  had  strongly  opposed  a  renewal  of  the 
balustrade,  partly  upon  the  ground  of  economy,  and  partly  for 
the  reason  that  from  as  long  ago  as  could  be  remembered  no  one 
had  ever  fallen  into  the  grave. 

Without  doubt,  in  the  choice  of  chief-burgomaster,*  they  would 
have  proceeded  as  usual,  had  not  the  command  arrived  from 
Lynxcrag  to  arrest  the  Ex-Chancellor,  and  deliver  up  the 
treacherous  peruke.  For  greater  safety  they  bound  poor  Jack 
Steam  with  chains  and  cord,  and  had  him  watched  day  and 
night  in  his  own  house,  by  fifty-seven  men,  armed  with  long 
spikes  ;  two  or  three  of  these  were  placed  wherever  there  were 
holes  in  the  wall  ;  for  instance,  at  the  window  or  door — even  at 
those  of  the  cellar  and  roof.  This  was  a  lucky  thought  of  Se- 
cretary Sulks,  and  it  took  up  the  entire  time  of  the  assembled 
citizens,  so  that  all  else  was  forgotten. 

In  the  mean  time  Prince  Nicodemus  was  fully  persuaded  of 
the  innocence  of  the  Ex-Chancellor  when  he  saw  the  Peruke. 
His  old  liking  for  him  revived,  and  he  not  only  sent  back  the 
massive  curly  head-piece  with  an  obliging  note,  but  left  him  free 
to  choose  any  boon  as  an  indemnification  for  his  imprisonment. 

Soon  as  this  was  rumored  in  Lalenburg  a  new  difficulty 

*  Chief-burgo  naster  and  mayor  are  the  same. 


JACK  STEAM. 


135 


arose,  for  they  all  feared  that  Jack  Steam  would,  out  of  revenge, 
request  the  heads  and  necks  of  those  who  had  used  him  harshly, 
if  not  the  destruction  of  all  Lalenburg.  The  fifty-seven  guards 
ran  away  spear  in  hand  ;  the  smiths,  locksmiths,  and  riveters 
on  the  contrary,  rushed  with  hammers,  nippers,  and  crowbars, 
that  they  might  be  the  first  to  loosen  the  prisoner.  Five  and 
twenty  virgins  declared  without  secrecy,  that  they  were  the  affi- 
anced brides  of  the  princely  favorite  ;  a  deputation  arrived 
from  the  Council  with  excuses  for  their  proceedings :  the  decree 
against  great  men  was  repealed — the  Steamian  silhouette  re- 
placed in  the  Council  Chamber  ;  and  Secretary  Sulks,  strongly 
supported  by  Town-Major  Knoll,  was  the  first  who  recommended 
himself  to  the  favor  of  the  great  man,  by  publicly  proposing  him 
for  Mayor. 

Fickleness  among  the  people,  who  to-day  shout  Hosanna  !  and 
to-morrow  crucify  him !  was  indigenous  in  Lalenburg,  as  it  is  in 
all  ages,  and  in  all  nations.  With  the  mass  it  arises  from  ig- 
norance,— from  thoughtlessness  in  some  ;  and  in  others,  who 
have  not  yet  been  aroused  to  better  feelings,  or  in  whom  these 
feelings  have  perished — from  egotism  and  selfishness.  It  must 
be  owned  that  the  Republic  of  Lalenburg  was  neither  composed 
of  Greeks,  nor  of  capricious  French ;  but  of  a  respectable, 
knowing,  inflexible,  and  pedantic  race.  Where  there  was  a 
question  of  property,  money-making  or  bargaining,  you  could  say 
of  the  Lalenburgers  that  they  were  very  wise  in  such  things 
— though  they  knew  nothing  else.  Selfishness  was,  therefore, 
the  principal  cause  of  their  fickleness,  instead  of  arising  as  it 
does  with  other  people,  from  heroism,  pride,  insolence,  or  even 
humility  and  cowardice. 

Jack  Steam  was  the  greatest  man  of  his  century  in  Lalenburg, 
because  he  was  an  entire  exception  to  all  their  rules,  for  he  un- 
derstood the  people,  and  knew  how  to  manage  them.  In  quiet 
times  the  gentlemen  of  the  Council  would  swell  with  importance, 
nor  step  aside  for  any  big  ox — they  thought  themselves  almost 
immortal  ;  but  if  there  was  the  smallest  aspect  of  danger,  they 
mistook  gnats  for  elephants,  and  would  humble  themselves,  and 
fawn,  even  doing  mean  things — when  they  could  be  done  safely. 
Jack  Steam  understood  them,  and  took  measures  accordingly. 


136 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


JACK  STEAM. 

His  first  measure  was  hanging  the  broad  and  great  order  of 
Nimrod  about  him,  as  the  bell  rung  for  the  meeting  of  the  Coun- 
cil voters.  He  knew  that  in  well-constituted  Republics — at  least 
in  that  of  Lalenburg,  a  piece  of  ribbon  in  the  button-hole  has 
quite  as  much  effect  as  in  a  Monarchy.  A  man  with  the  ribbon 
could  not  be  allowed  to  sit  in  any-  but  the  best  places,  for  other- 
wise they  would  offend  the  prince  of  Lynxcrag  His  second 
measure  was  to  don  the  immense  Algonquin  Peruke,  which  _ 
rolled  down  like  a  cloud  from  his  crown  to  his  breast,  and  far 
down  his  back,  turning  half  of  his  agreeable  person  into  a  head- 
piece. 

As  he  walked  towards  the  Council-Hall  with  studied  steps,  all 
the  windows  flew  open,  chatterers  stopped  talking,  and  hats  and 
caps  were  respectfully  taken  off.  He  inspired  such  universal 
reverence  that  none  of  the  councillors  dared  to  walk  beside  him, 
hut  in  their  great  politeness  went  about  one  step  behind  him. 
They  also  gave  to  his  ribbon,  his  state  peruke,  and  himself — 
the  most  distinguished  seat  on  the  first  bench,  and  with  so  many 
ceremonies,  bows  and  foot  scrapings,  that  three  chairs  were 
thrown  down,  and  several  members  of  the  Council  had  their 
corns  violently  trodden  upon,  which  increased  the  universal 
emotion,  particularly  in  the  last  mentioned  gentlemen.  He  who 
was  then  officiating  in  the  capacity  of  Mayor  asked  Jack  Steam 
to  offer  his  opinions  upon  the  present  important  choice  for  that 
office. 

After  taking  several  very  modest  attitudes,  Jack  Steam  made 
a  low  bow  and  said  :  "  He  felt  exceedingly  sorry  that  they  had 
put  him  in  such  an  embarrassing  situation  as  that  of  first  speaker, 
for  he  was  wanting  in  knowledge,  eloquence,  and  experience. 
It  was  better  for  him  to  be  silent  in  this  assembly,  that  he  might 
hear  and  learn.  There  was  not  a  soul  there  who  did  not  sur- 
pass him  in  the  necessary  qualifications  for  discoursing,  and 
therefore  he  begged  leave  to  decline  the  honor  of  speaking 
first."  But  the  Lalenburgers  overwhelmed  him  with  praise,  re- 
gretted naught  but  his  extreme  modesty,  and  seven  times  begged 


JACK  STEAM. 


137 


him  to  speak  because  he  had  six  times  begged  to  be  excused. 
This  see-sawiifg  of  compliments ;  this  humble  refusal  of  an  offer 
which  a  man  is  glad  to  get,  was  a  mere  piece  of  formality  in  La- 
lenburg,  or  rather  of  genuine  good-breeding. 

Now  the  tongue  of  the  noble  Jack  Steam  began  to  run.  Ten 
minutes  he  uccupied  in  giving  them  their  titles,  ten  minutea 
more  in  declaring  his  incompetency  to  speak  ;  then  dilated  upor 
the  virtues  of  the  "  blessed  dead  "  whose  place  was  now  to  b& 
filled,  and  of  the  qualities  which  the  first  magistrate  of  a  Re- 
public  should  possess. 

"To  rule,5'*  said  he,  "  is  a  great  art,  and  that  art  consists  in 
destroying  nothing  !  Can  man  better  that  which  God  has  already 
made  ?  The  watch  goes  of  itself  when  it  is  wound  up,  but 
touch  not  the  wheels !  Does  the  peasant  sow  the  field  ? — the 
seed  will  come  up  of  itself  if  he  does  not  inconsiderately  dig 
the  ground  over.  The  love  of  novelty  has  ruined  the  oldest 
states ; — he  who  runs  must  some  time  come  to  an  end,  he  who 
would  not  come  to  an  end,  had  better  keep  quiet.  Thus  did 
our  glorious  ancestors,  O  Lalenburgers,  and  thus  must  we  do. 

"  All  this  nonsense  of  the  ministers  and  metaphysicians  of  the 
present  day  is  of  no  use.  Are  thrones  any  the  more  secure  ? 
No,  they  totter  the  more.  Therefore  stick  to  old  customs.  New 
customs  are  like  new  wine,  they  need  fermenting,  but  old  cus- 
toms are  like  old  wine,  strong,  sweet,  and  clear.  Therefore  the 
most  stupid  of  old  customs  is  better  than  the  wisest  of  new  cus- 
toms. Let  us  now  remain  as  we  are,  in  spite  of  them ;  like  the 
very  beasts.  Mankind  die  as  much  where  there  are  doctors 
and  an  apothecary,  as  where  neither  is  to  be  found.  In  fact 
they  die  sooner,  for  the  doctor  and  the  apothecary  seek  to  better 
and  mend  the  natural  order  of  things  for  money's  sake.  Be- 
ware of  the  faculties !  Blessed  are  the  poor  in  spirit,  for  in 
their  simplicity  they  see  more  than  those  who  are  blinded  by 
wisdom. 

"  Thus  thought  our  ancestors.  Rome  and  Greece  have  per- 
ished, and  Lalenburg  yet  stands.  It  is  with  states  as  with  man 
— bright  children  do  not  live  long — and  the  minister  causes  their 
downfall.  But  everything  will  finally  go  well  if  we  do  not  ad- 
vance too  quickly,  for  Nature  likes  no  leaping.    What  does 


138 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


not  happen  to-day  may  happen  to-morrow.  If  the  apple  is  ripe, 
it  falls  to  the  ground,  and  needs  no  plucking  from  the  tree. 

"  Things  that  are  forgotten  are  new,  and  a  novelty  excites 
zeal,  especially  when  that  novelty  has  been  an  old  friend.  Run- 
ning does  not  aid  one's  progress.  He  who  does  the  least,  has 
in  fact  accomplished  the  most.  Preserve  us  from  too  much  go- 
vernment !  Whom  God  loves  is  known  by  his  sleep.  The 
principal  duty  of  Rulers  is  to  create  respect  for  all  the  laws, 
even  the  worst  of  them,  and  if  you  would  have  men  look  with 
honor  on  your  laws,  you  must  make  yourselves  respected. 
From  this  arises  the  necessity  of  outward  display,  pomp  and 
magnificence  with  which  Kings,  Emperors,  Princes,  and  minis- 
ters surround  themselves.  A  serious  imposing  demeanor  is 
more  necessary  in  a  Republic  than  wisdom  itself,  and  a  good 
peruke  more  effective  than  a  good  head.  For  this  reason  it 
has  been  said  in  the  common  law  of  Lalenburg,  from  time  im- 
memorial, that  burgomasters  and  secretaries  must  wear  perukes, 
— and  all.    Dress  makes  the  man  ! 

"  In  free  states,  the  most  efficient  mode  of  action  is  secrecy  or 
mystery.  It  increases  a  man's  own  importance,  a  proper  res- 
pect for  the  office  and  the  honor  of  the  state.  A  wise  minister 
will  always  have  his  head  and  his  heart  full  of  secrets — or  at 
least  the  appearance  of  it,  since  a  bucket  of  water  falls  to  the 
ground  when  it  contains  nothing.  There  is  no  harm  done  by 
telling  the  whole  in  confidence,  if  it  only  seems  as  if  the  best 
part  were  reserved.  We  are  all  masters  in  this  art,  and  thence 
the  fame  of  Lalenburg. 

"  Talking  and  chattering  about  state  secrets,  must  of  course  be 
allowed  in  the  Council  Hall ;  but  no  blabbing  in  print.  God 
created  a  mouth  for  man,  but  no  printing-press.  Nothing  is 
more  injurious  to  our  reputation  than  this  wicked  instrument 

which  exhibits  our  and  our  misdeeds  to  the  whole  world. 

Wise  Princes  have  nearly  cracked  their  skulls  over  the  censor- 
ship of  the  press ;  we  will  be  yet  wiser,  and  forbid  the  printing 
of  books  or  newspapers  in  our  Republic,  unless  it  be  a  prayer- 
book  or  a  hymn-book,  a  new  year's  ode,  or  an  occasional 
marriage  poem.  It  is  certain  that  the  more  severity  we  show 
all  impious  publications,  the  sooner  will  riots  he  driven  from  our 


JACK  STEAM. 


139 


country,  and  the  less  we  print  about  ourselves,  I  am  sorry  to  say 
— for  we  are  very  modest, — the  more  will  be  written  and  printed 
abroad  in  praise  of  the  Lalenburgers.  This  cannot  be  helped 
and  therefore  must  be  endured  ;  we  will  therefore  play  the  press- 
gang  a  trick  and  not  read  their  publications :  thus  we  shall 
keep  our  self-respect." 

Jack  Steam  continued  in  the  same  strain  for  some  time.  As 
the  others  knew  it  all  by  heart,  they  yawned  until  their  eyes 
closed,  but  when  their  turn  came  to  speak,  they  were  inexhaust- 
ible in  their  praises  of  the  great  man  who  had  spoken  first, 
praised  his  deep  understanding,  and  added  the  modest  remark, 
that  he  had  spoken  exactly  what  they  were  going  to  say. 


THE  BUSY-BODY. 

And  that  same  day  Jack  Steam  was  nominated  and  elected 
Consul  of  the  Republic.  He  begged  the  councillors  with  tears 
to  take  back  their  votes  and  elect  a  more  worthy  man.  But  they 
paid  no  attention  to  this,  for  they  all  knew,  that  these  tears  and 
this  humility  were  only  a  part  of  the  usual  ceremonies  of  the 
inauguration. 

Now  began  the  most  brilliant  epoch  in  the  life  of  the  great 
Jack  Steam,  or  Jack  Steam  the  Busy-Body  as  his  contemporaries 
preferred  calling  him.  For  he  was  the  life  of  all  Lalenburg, 
was  everywhere  in  a  twinkling,  and  settled  everything  whether 
it  would  or  not.  In  all  love  affairs,  there  was  Jack  Steam  ;  in  all 
quarrels,  there  was  Jack  Steam  ;  in  all  mistakes,  there  was  Jack 
Steam ;  and  if  a  secret  became  known  to  the  whole  world,  Jack 
Steam  was  first  in  the  business. 

On  the  day  of  the  election,  he  was  invited  to  twenty-five  places 

as  the  guest  of  as  many  betrothed  damsels,  he  was  but 

the  historian  shrinks  from  the  gigantic  undertaking  of  becoming 
the  Plutarch  of  this  hero.  The  reader  must  at  least  allow  the 
Plutarch  to  take  fresh  breath,  that  he  may  write  with  greater 
vigor  hereafter. 


* 


I 


FLORETTA: 

OR 

THE  FIRST  LOVE  OF  HENRY  IV, 


THE 


FLORETTA, 

OR 

FIRST  LOVE  OF  HENRY  IV. 


I.  THE  YOUNG  PRINCE  OF  BEARN. 

At  Nerac,  a  graceful  little  place  in  Gascony,  there  was  a  grand 
feast,  or  rather  a  general  festival,  inasmuch  as  the  King  of 
France,  Charles  IX.,  with  the  whole  of  his  magnificent  retinue, 
was  there  on  a  visit  to  the  Court  of  Navarre.  At  least  it  is  so 
written  down  at  this  very  day  in  the  old  chronicle  of  Nerac, 
and  was  about  the  year  of  our  Lord  1566. 

There  was  good  ground  for  the  visit.  For  the  King  of  France 
brought  to  the  Queen  of  Navarre  her  young  son  Henry,  who, 
until  now,  had  been  reared  at  the  Court  of  Paris.  The  Queen 
wished  him  henceforth  to  be  with  her.  One  may  easily  imagine 
with  what  joy  the  mother  once  more  clasped  the  child  to  her 
breast.  The  Queen,  as  we  know,  was  named  Joanna,  and  was 
not  only  a  tender  mother,  but  a  true  heroic  woman.  Indeed 
the  whole  world  knows  how  she  comported  herself  when  this 
dearly  beloved  child  Henry,  was  born.  At  that  time,  her 
father,  Henry  of  Albret,  King  of  Navarre,  stepped  to  her 
bed-side,  carrying  in  his  hand  a  gold  box,  attached  to  a  long 
gold  chain,  and  said,  "  Look  now,  daughter  mine  !  Sing  me 
at  thy  lying-in  a  right  cheerful  Gascon  song,  and  this  with  all 
that  is  in  it  shall  be  thine."  And  she  sang  as  soon  as  the  child 
appeared.  Then  he  immediately  placed  the  gold  chain  round 
her  neck  and  gave  her  the  box.    "  But,"  said  he,  and  took  the 


144 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


new-comer  in  his  arms,  "on  that  account  I  hold  him  here;" 
the  mother,  on  the  other  hand,  would  not  allow  the  child  to  be 
taken. 

Now,  Henry  was  larger ;  in  fact,  though  only  fifteen  years 
old,  we  might  have  easily  mistaken  him  for  eighteen,  he  had 
shot  up  so  tall.  The  flax  was  scarce  on  his  chin,  and  his  face 
was  like  milk  and  blood,  but  his  heart  was  like  a  well  tried 
sword,  and  his  hands  were  hard  and  strong  from  the  use  of 
weapons  and  every  vigorous  labor.  In  fact,  he  was  a  mettle- 
some fellow,  a  right  roving  blade,  who  could  run,  hunt,  fight, 
dance,  and  clamber  about  the  hills  and  rocks  like  a  Chamois. 
His  tutor  and  master,  the  sage  Lagaucherie,  had  as  much  as 
he  could  do  with  him  ;  yet  the  young  Prince  was  so  loveable,  so 
intellectual,  so  good-hearted,  they  could  not  do  otherwise  than 
humor  him.  And  when  a  little  impetuous,  if  he  was  reminded 
of  Duty  and  Honor,  those  two  little  words  would  make  him 
as  gentle  as  a  lamb.  This  is  saying  a  great  deal  of  a  young 
man  who  had  a  kingdom  for  an  inheritance.  For  in  these  days 
the  two  words  Duty  and  Honor  will  scarcely  bring  the  son  of  an 
ordinary  tradesman  into  obedience.  ^ 

The  people  at  Nerac  for  this  reason  preferred  the  wild,  hand- 
some, good  Henry,  to  the  pomp  and  majesty  of  the  King  of 
France.  For  what  is  it  after  all  to  see  horses  and  coaches,  and 
gilded  outriders,  and  guards,  and  footmen  and  lackies  with  all 
their  pride  ?  We  might  rather  run  after  the  saddlers,  the  tailors, 
the  wheel-wrights,  the  lace-makers,  and  other  people  of  that  sort, 
for  one  might  possibly  learn  something  of  their  trades.  People 
who  are  themselves  respectable,  look  with  the  most  pleasure 
upon  him  who  deserves  the  most  honors  ;  not  upon  him  who  wears 
the  most.  The  respectable  people  of  Nerac  consequently  looked 
with  greater  pleasure  upon  the  promising  Prince  of  Bearn,  the 
young  Henry,  than  on  the  King.  This  one  went  along  always 
very  seriously  and  majestically,  and  scarcely  thanked  them 
when  they  greeted  him  ;  but  Henry  smiled  kindly  on  all  sides, 
and  cheerfully  returned  their  greetings.  And  his  smile  was 
uncommonly  full  of  fascination.  At  least  so  testified  all  the 
young  ladies  and  maidens  of  Nerac  unanimously  and  with 
knowing  looks.    In  such  matters  young  ladies  without  contro- 


FLORE TTA. 


145 


versy,  are  the  most  accomplished  connoisseurs,  or  rather  natural 
judges. 

In  the  train  of  the  King  also  were  many  young  lords,  beauti- 
ful, spirited  and  brave  men  :  for  example,  the  young  Duke  of 
Guise,  three  years  older  than  the  Prince  of  Beam.  Everybody 
liked  the  Prince,  however,  because  he  made  himself  agreeable 
to  them.  This  the  young  Duke  well  knew  ;  it  often  mortified 
him,  and  he  was,  probably,  not  the  best  disposed  in  the  world 
towards  the  son  of  the  King  of  Navarre.  They  had  grown  up 
together  play  and  school  companions  ;  still  they  did  not  take 
much  to  each  other.  The  King  of  France  was  continually 
called  upon  to  settle  their  little  difficulties.  It  was  well,  there- 
fore, that  they  should  be  separated,  and  Henry  remain  with  his 
mother.  Even  before  his  absence  from  Nerac  he  had  given 
some  trouble  in  this  respect. 


II.  THE   CROSS-BOW  SHOOTING. 

Among  other  sports  a  shooting  with  the  cross-bow  was  held. 
The  King  himself  was  a  good  shot.  With  sorrow  be  it  said 
that  he  was  so.  For  men  know  how,  six  years  after  the  festi- 
val at  Nerac,  at  the  bloody  marriage  in  Paris,  he  shot  at  his 
own  Huguenot  dependents.  At  Nerac,  he  tried  his  skill  more 
innocently.  For  a  pomegranate,  fastened  up  at  a  distance  which 
had  been  measured  off,  was  the  mark. 

When  a  king  or  prince  takes  pleasure  in  being  the  best  in  any 
act,  men  do  not  lightly  presume  to  prove  that  they  are  better  in 
it  than  he.  It  so  happened  here.  No  courtier  ventured  to  hit 
the  golden  fruit  with  his  arrow,  lest  he  should  rob  the  King  of 
the  honor,  or  rather  the  delusion,  that  he  was  the  best  shooter 
under  the  sun.  Thus  great  lords,  poor  fellows,  are  always 
deceived,  and  men  secretly  laugh  at  them  behind  their  backs. 
The  Duke  of  Guise  was  also  an  excellent  shot ;  but  not  the  less 
a  most  excellent  courtier.  Naturally  his  shaft  flew  far  aside 
from  the  beautiful  pomegranate.  Many  spectators,  both  male 
and  female,  came  from  the  castle  as  well  as  from  the  village  to  see 
11 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


the  sport ;  all  gracefully  drest.  The  good  people  believed  in 
real  earnest  that  the  King  was  a  master  at  cross-bow  shooting, 
for  he  had  almost  hit  the  pomegranate  with  his  arrow.  But  they 
did  not  yet  understand  the  courtly  mode  of  handling  the  bow. 

Now  they  cried  out ;  "  The  Prince  of  Beam  !"  Then  came 
young  Henry  with  his  cross-bow,  aimed,  and  cleft  the  golden 
mark  in  two  with  his  arrow  at  the  first  stroke.  The  spectators 
murmured  simultaneous  applause ;  the  beautiful  spectatresses, 
smiling,  whispered  in  each  other's  ears,  I  know  not  what.  But 
the  King  was  not  altogether  satisfied  :  he  looked  dark  and  almost 
gloomy. 

According  to  the  rules  of  the  game,  Henry  should  now  begin 
again  and  shoot  first  at  the  new  pomegranate.  On  the  contrary, 
the  King  thought,  I  am  yet  King  !  and  would  not  give  up  the 
honor  of  the  first  shot,  and  said  :  "  We  must  proceed  in  regular 
order."  Henry  said  :  "  By  all  means,  according  to  rule  !"  But 
Kings,  particularly  when  they  are  a  little  angry,  are  not  in  the 
rule  of  keeping  any  rules.  Then,  as  Henry  would  have  taken 
his  place  and  aim,  the  King  pushed  him  back  quite  rudely. 
This  ought  not  to  be  thought  evil  in  him,  for  he  was  young,  and 
indeed  only  about  the  age  of  the  Prince  of  Beam.  But  Henry, 
by  nature  a  hot-headed  creature,  sprang  back  a  few  steps  from 
the  enclosure,  stretched  the  sinew  of  his  bow,  laid  a  bolt  upon 
it,  and  aimed  at  the  King. 

His  majesty,  greatly  frightened,  ran  quickly  back,  and  placed 
himself  behind  the  thickest  of  his  courtiers.  The  stout  man, 
who  in  imagination  already  felt  the  arrow  in  his  paunch,  cried 
murder  !  and  drew  his  hands,  as  far  as  he  could,  before  his 
belly.  Henry,  although  he  was  somewhat  irritated,  could  not, 
at  the  sight  of  the  stout  man,  who  stood  like  a  tottering  wall 
before  the  King,  keep  from  laughing,  and  he  laughed  aloud. 
The  maidens  of  Nerac,  when  they  saw  the  young  Prince  laugh- 
ing so  immeasurably,  began  to  giggle,  and  the  old  ladies  did  the 
same.  Laughter,  like  crying,  is  among  females  exceedingly 
contagious.  And  as  Eve  formerly  seduced  Adam  to  a  little 
dainty  indulgence,  she  now  seduced  the  men  to  laugh.  All 
laughed  ;  but  the  courtiers  knew  hardly  what  face  they  ought 
properly  to  assume  on  the  occasion.    The  King,  however,  was 


FLORE  IT  A 


147 


disposed  to  laugh,  quite  as  little  as  his  stout  bulwark  and  de- 
fender.   "  Take  away  the  Prince  of  Beam !"  he  cried. 

Fortunately  the  wise  Lagaucherie,  Henry's  tutor,  was  present. 
He  took  his  pupil  by  the  arm  and  led  him  into  the  castle.  Henry's 
laugh  was  heard  until  he  was  lost  in  the  distance. 

This  little  spat  between  Charles  and  Henry  was  settled  as 
soon  as  they  understood  themselves,  and  so  it  led  to  no  subse- 
quent contests.  Henry  was  a  thoughtless  youngster  who  must 
make  an  apology  and  let  the  matter  drop. 


III.  THE  ROSE  ON  THE  ARROW. 

On  the  following  day  there  was  another  shooting  with  the  cross- 
bow, at  gold  pomegranates.  All  the  archers  came,  all  the 
maidens  came,  all  the  wives  came,  also  the  men.  The  specta- 
tors were  now  more  numerous  than  before.  For  they  hoped 
they  would  be  able  'to  laugh  all  day  long.  But  he  who  came 
not  was  the  King.  He  remained  under  some  pretence  at  the 
palace ;  probably  he  had  important  public  business. 

This  time  they  all  shot  better  than  they  had  done  yester- 
day. The  people  of  Nerac  could  not  comprehend  how  the 
court  had  become  altogether  so  skilful  in  a  night.  All  the 
pomegranates  were  struck.  The  mark  was  set  up  at  a  greater 
distance.  Even  there  the  same  fortune  attended  them.  Espe- 
cially the  Duke  of  Guise  showed  himself  a  master.  He  aimed 
at  the  farthest  pomegranate  and  split  it. 

It  was  vexatious  to  Henry  that  there  were  no  more  pome- 
granates. He  would  gladly  have  had  another  trial  for  mastery 
with  his  young  competitor.  He  looked  on  every  side  to  find 
something  that  would  do  for  a  mark.  He  saw  among  the  spec- 
tators a  young  maiden  about  as  old  or  as  young  as  himself,  a 
beautifully  formed  child  of  fifteen.  She  stood  there  in  simple 
dress,  her  sweet  face  half  shaded  by  her  hat,  charming  as  love, 
harmless  as  innocence. 

Henry  sprang  hastily  towards  the  little  Venus  of  Nerac.  He 
would  not  indeed  have  chosen  her  as  the  mark  for  his  arrow  ; 


148 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


but  the  rose  which  she  wore  in  her  breast.  It  was  a  rose  like 
the  maiden  herself,  its  charms  but  half-unfolded,  and  its  deep 
red  mouth  delicately  fringed  with  the  pale  leaves.  Henry- 
begged  the  flower,  and  stretched  forth  his  hand  to  the  youthful 
bosom  which  it  adorned.  The  little  Venus  reddened,  and  smiling 
gave  him  her  image.  He  ran  with  it  to  the  mark,  placed  the 
rose  there,  and  then  back  to  the  shooting  place. 

"  Now,  Duke,  you  are  conqueror.  There  is  a  new  mark. 
To  you  belongs  the  first  shot  I"  Thus  cried  Henry  breathlessly, 
and  sucked  the  blood  from  his  wounded  finger,  which  he  had 
pricked  with  a  thorn  from  the  rose.  The  finger  pained  him  not 
half  so  much  as — he  knew  not  himself  what  or  why  !  Then 
looked  he  sidewise  to  the  lowly  original  of  the  rose,  from  whom 
his  sweet  sorrow  had  come. 

Guise  drew,  aimed — the  arrow  flew — and  failed.  Then 
Henry  advanced,  bent  his  bow,  aimed,  and  glancing  first  side- 
wise  over  his  arm,  whence  his  sorrow  came,  and  then  at  the 
rose,  let  the  missive  fly.  The  arrow  pierced  the  heart  of  the 
flower. 

"  You  have  won !"  said  Guise.  But  the  young  Prince  of 
Beam  wished  to  examine  closely,  and  ran  to  the  mark.  He 
drew  the  arrow  from  the  plank.  The  pierced  rose  sat  as  fast 
there  as  if  it  had  been  on  its  own  stalk.  He  flew  with  it  to  the 
artless  maiden,  to  return  her  the  plundered  flower.  With  a 
gentle  bow  he  offered  to  his  Beauty,  the  rose  and  the  victorious 
arrow  also. 

"Your  gift  gave  me  fortune,"  said  he. 

"  But  your  fortune  was  the  misfortune  of  the  poor  rose,"  re- 
plied the  little  one,  while  she  sought  with  her  tender  fingers  to 
free  the  flower  from  the  arrow. 

"I  willingly  leave  you,  as  an  atonement, the  guilty  arrow!" 

"I  have  no  need  of  that !"  replied  the  maiden. 

"  I  believe  it  truly !  You  wound  with  a  sharper  arrow  than  this," 
added  Henry,  and  looked  upon  the  beautiful  innocent  who  stood 
abashed  before  him,  and  as  she  raised  her  eyes  to  him,  faltered  and 
blushed.  He  blushed  as  well  as  she?  and  unconsciously  held 
his  hand  before  his  breast,  as  if  he  would  preserve  that  from  the 


FLORETTA. 


149 


misfortune  of  the  Rose.  He  could  not  muster  a  single  word 
more,  and  therefore  bowed  and  went  back  to  the  archers. 

The  play  was  over.  The  shooters  returned  to  the  palace 
which  lay  in  the  dark  green  plain  that  sloped  gradually  down 
to  the  shores  of  the  Blaize.  The  spectators  separated.  The 
young  maiden,  with  the  pierced  rose  on  the  arrow  which  had  been 
given  her,  also  went  away,  attended  by  her  companions.  Her 
playmates  prattled  a  good  deal,  and  even  envied  the  little  one  on 
account  of  the  arrow.  The  little  one  was  very  dumb  and  observed 
only  the  pierced  flower  ;  and  in  it  she  saw  her  own  heart  pierced. 

As  the  archers  stood  upon  the  steps  of  the  castle,  Henry  look- 
ed again  at  the  assemblage,  who  were  now  rapidly  disbanding. 
And  among  the  spectators  he  sought  one  person.  But  she  was 
not  to  be  recognized. 

"  Who  is  that  little  pretty  maiden  from  whom  I  stole  the 
rose  ?"  said  he  to  a  nobleman  of  his  mother,  the  Queen  Johanna. 

"  She  is  the  daughter  of  the  castle  gardener,"  answered  the 
nobleman,  "  and  does  honor  to  the  vocation  of  her  father  as  well 
as  herself  by  her  name." 

"  What  is  she  called?" 

"  Floretta  is  her  name  now,  but  when  she  is  older,  it  will  be 
Flora." 

"  Floretta  !"  said  Henry,  scarcely  knowing  what  he  said.  He 
once  more  looked  round,  although  he  knew  there  was  nothing  to 
be  seen. 


IV.  THE  SPRING  OF   LA  GARENNE. 

Henry  had  often  in  his  lifetime  heard  the  word  love,  and  how, 
without  being  deaf,  could  he  have  escaped  hearing  it  at  the 
court  of  Paris  ?  But  he  understood  it  as  little  as  he  understood 
Arabic  or  Chaldee,  of  which  he  had  probably  been  informed 
that  there  were  such  things  extant  in  the  world.  Meanwhile  he 
learned  love  more  easily  than  Arabic,  and  in  later  years  was 
more  versed  therein  than  was  often  advantageous  to  his  fame. 
It  is  well  known  that  the  battles  and  the  victories,  by  which  he 


150 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


afterwards  gained  the  crown  of  France,  are  not  so  hard  to  be 
numbered  as  his  intrigues  and  their  consequences.  Even  at  the 
present  day  they  sing  of  the  beautiful  Gabrielle  D'Estres,  of  the 
enchanting  Henriette  De  Balzac  D'Entragues,  of  Jacqueline  De 
Beuil,  of  Charlotte  des  Essarts  and  others,  who  scattered  roses 
along  the  thorny  path  of  Henry  the  Great.  Yet  of  all  whom  he 
ever  loved,  none  was  like  Floretta  of  Nerac ;  none  more  beauti- 
ful ?  No,  I  could  not  say  that  without  giving  pain  to  poets  and 
other  women,  for  every  one  has  liberty  of  conscience  in  this 
article  of  faith.  No,  none  was  more  lovely,  if  loveliness  is  raised 
in  degree  in  proportion  as  it  becomes  worthy  of  the  sincerest 
affection. 

Such  was  Floretta.  With  the  pierced  rose  her  heart  was 
pierced ;  and  as  Henry  gave  her  the  arrow,  the  flaming  look  of 
her  dark,  beautiful  eyes,  full  of  sweet  revenge,  threw  another 
arrow  into  his  unprotected  breast. 

Thus  misfortune  began  with  these  children,  though  neither  of 
them  yet  knew  what  had  happened  to  them.  Floretta,  during  the 
whole  day,  could  not  awake  from  the  dream  of  the  moment 
when  he  stood  before  her  with  the  arrow,  and  the  whole  night 
she  could  not  sleep.  Henry,  as  soon  as  he  was  free  from  the 
castle,  ran  round  the  garden  and  observed  all  the  flowers  with 
great  care  and  attention,  in  order  to  discover  by  their  beauty 
whether  Floretta  had  planted  or  watered  any  of  them.  One 
might  have  fancied  that  he  would  become  a  botanist,  when  he  was 
seen  standing  thoughtfully  before  the  flower  beds,  with  his  hands 
locked  in  each  other.  He  would  much  rather,  however,  have 
become  a  gardener  at  the  side  of  Floretta.  Or  if  we  had  seen 
him  sauntering  slowly,  with  his  head  sunk  and  his  eyes  turned 
towards  the  ground,  along  the  wide  walks  between  the  flower 
beds,  one  might  reasonably  have  conjectured  that  he  was  some 
young  chemist  in  search  of  the  Philosopher's  stone.  He  was 
seeking,  however,  in  the  sands  of  the  garden  walks  the  light 
foot-prints  of  the  artless  child. 

It  made  him  tremble  when,  at  the  end  of  the  garden,  near  the 
spring  of  La  Garenne,  he  discovered  footsteps  which  could  only 
belong  to  her.  He  had  not,  it  is  true,  seen  Floretta's  feet,  much 
less  measured  them;  but  Henry  had  a  nice  eye  and  fine  com- 


FLORETTA. 


151 


parison,  as  in  after  years  he  proved  on  many  a  battle  field. 
And  as  he  followed  the  trace  he  went  through  the  bushes  to  a 
wooden  bridge  across  the  quiet  brook  of  Blaize.  On  the  other 
side  of  the  water  stood  a  little  white  elegant  house.  Now  he  very 
much  wanted  to  inquire  who  this  house  belonged  to  or  who  lived 
in  it.  But  there  was  no  one  there  to  tell  him, — except  his  arrow 
with  the  rose  which  stood  at  the  window,  in  one  of  the  rooms  of 
the  little  house.  He  started  as  if  there  was  something  terrible  at 
the  window,  and  turning  round  quickly  ran  back  into  the  gar- 
den, his  heart  beating  all  the  while,  though  he  was  followed  by 
nobody. 

In  the  evening  he  went  again  to  the  garden.  Twilight  had 
already  come  on,  but  he  kept  a  sharp  look-out.  And  he  saw  in 
the  distance,  at  the  spring  of  Garenne,  a  maiden  neither  larger  nor 
smaller  than  Floretta.  She  drew  a  bucket  of  water,  and  heav- 
ing it  on  her  head,  carried  it  through  the  bushes  and  over  the 
bridge  of  the  Blaize  to  the  little  house. 

Then  he  was  haunted  all  the  evening  by  an  image  before  his 
eyes.  At  the  palace  in  the  evening  an  informal  ball  was  given,  and 
the  princesses,  ladies  and  lords  all  danced.  But  no  young  woman 
danced  so  beautifully  as  in  Henry's  imagination  danced  the 
garden-maid,  with  the  bucket  on  her  head,  through  the  bushes 
along  the  steep  rocks.  And  when  he  himself  took  part  in  the 
dance  he  looked  less  upon  his  partner  than  upon  the  door,  where 
the  spectators  were  gathered.  But  he  looked  there  quite  in 
vain. 


V.  THE  GARDENER. 

The  next  day  Henry  went  very  early  to  the  castle  garden.  He 
wandered  with  his  spade  upon  his  shoulder,  to  the  spring  of 
Garenne.  For  it  was  rude  and  uncultivated  about  the  spring, 
probably  because  no  one  went  there,  except  such  as  wished  to 
draw  water.  The  spring  was  too  remote,  and  only  convenient  to 
the  house  of  the  gardener.  On  that  account,  perhaps,  it  was 
particularly  pleasant  to  the  young  Prince  of  Beam. 


152 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


Pie  dug  and  dug,  a  broad  circle  in  the  green  sod  about  the 
spring.  The  sweat  rolled  from  his  brow.  And  when  he  be- 
came weary  and  thirsty,  he  went  to  the  spring,  which  ever 
sparkled  silver  bright,  to  drink.  When  his  lips  were  wet  by  the 
cool  water,  he  thought  to  himself  that  no  wine  had  ever  tasted 
so  pleasant.  Without  a  doubt,  Floretta  must  some  time  have 
drunk  from  the  same  fountain.  He  returned  from  his  labor 
to  the  castle  ;  and  there  he  sat  down  dejectedly  in  his  dark-green 
chamber  to  look  out  of  the  narrow  and  high-pointed  window. 

Now,  if  he  had  remained  where  he  was  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
longer,  he  would  have  had  an  observer  of  his  toils,  for  Floretta 
came  to  the  spring.  And  as  she  descried  the  broad  circle  dug  in 
the  grass,  with  the  borders  for  new  flower-beds,  she  thought — 
"  Father  must  have  been  up  very  early  ;  or  has  he  suffered  his 
workmen  to  do  this  ?" 

When  she  returned  home  and  asked  old  Lucas  about  it,  he 
was  greatly  surprised,  and  knew  nothing  of  the  matter.  He 
betook  himself  to  the  spring  of  Garenne,  and  saw  the  work,  and 
said  with  some  anger,  "  My  men  have  done  that  without  my 
orders,"  And  he  called  the  workmen  and  scolded  them.  But  no 
one  would  own  to  having  done  it.  This  puzzled  old  Lucas's 
brains,  for  he  could  not  conceive  who  would  dare  to  usurp  his 
function  in  the  garden  of  the  castle.  He  resolved,  therefore,  to 
stand  upon  the  watch.  He  watched  faithfully  all  day,  but  he 
did  not  watch  to  any  purpose. 

For  the  royal  family  had  gone  to  a  neighboring  castle,  and  did 
not  get  back  till  late  in  the  evening.  The  next  morning  there 
was  a  little  festival  from  which  the  young  prince  did  not  dare  to 
be  absent.  Therefore,  he  took  advantage  of  the  earliest  hour 
after  sunrise  for  gardening  ;  he  dug  and  raked  over  the  beds  ; 
he  took  the  flower-stalks,  where  they  stood  too  thick,  and  planted 
them  around  the  Garenne  spring.  Nobody  saw  him,  but  what 
was  sadder,  he  saw  nobody, — at  least,  that  he  wanted  to  see.  He 
returned,  therefore,  by  the  nearest  path  to  the  castle.  But  strange 
to  say,  this  nearest  path  led  him  a  long  circuit  around  the  castle, 
past  a  certain  pretty  little  house.  Then  he  peeped  towards  a 
certain  window,  merely  to  see  a  certain  arrow.  Oh  !  how  it  ter- 
rified him  to  the  heart ;  for  by  the  window  stood  a  certain  little 


FLORETTA. 


153 


maiden,  and  the  window  was  open,  and  the  whole  Heaven  was 
open  ! 

Floretta  stood  at  the  open  window,  and  bound  the  long  tresses 
of  her  black  beautiful  'curls  about  her  head.  Her  young 
bosom  was  uncovered,  her  white  neck  glittered  like  snow  beneath 
the  dark  locks  of  her  silken  hair.  In  the  window  lay  flowers, 
with  which  she  probably  designed  to  deck  her  hair,  or  her  hat, 
or  her  breast.  Henry  hailed  the  window  in  a  friendly  voice,  and 
Floretta  sent  down  a  friendly  reply.  Henry  jumped  up  upon  a 
bench,  and  in  that  way  was  almost  as  tall  as  Floretta,  before 
whom  close  to  the  window  he  stood. 

A  deep  red  flushed  her  angel-face  and  her  alabaster  neck. 
He  asked,  "  can  I  help  you  dress  V  She  asked,  "  are  you  up  so 
earl  vj  young  Lord."  He  considered  that  it  was  not  so  very  ear- 
ly, and  she  considered  that  she  had  no  need  of  his  help.  He 
thought  particularly  that  she  needed  no  other  ornament  than  her 
own  self  to  be  very  beautiful  ;  and  she  thought  that  he  was  a  great 
joker,  which  was  not  at  all  civil  in  him  just  then.  He  observed 
that  he  had  never  in  his  life  spoken  a  truer  word  than  now  ;  for 
since  she  had  given  him  the  rose,  he  had  not  forgotten  her  for  one 
moment.  She  observed  that  it  was  rather  a  cheap  price  whereby 
to  render  one's  self  unforgetable.  He  regretted  that  he  had  given 
back  the  rose  ;  rather  would  he  have  kept  it  as  an  amulet ;  and 
she  regretted  that  the  flowers  lying  before  her  were  so  poor  ;  still 
she  would  give  him  all,  willingly,  if  that  would  yield  him  any 
pleasure.  He  maintained,  whilst  he  stuck  some  of  the  flowers 
in  his  breast,  that  the  poorest  were  made  worthy  by  the  giver. 
And  she  now  maintained,  that  the  flowers  were  in  reality  right 
beautiful,  since  he  had  disposed  them  there. 

Thus  they  considered,  and  thought  and  observed,  and  regretted 
and  maintained,  these  two  little  people,  about  a  great  many 
things,  till  old  Lucas  called  Floretta  to  the  next  chamber.  The 
maiden  bowed  with  a  sweet  smile  to  the  young  prince  and  van- 
ished. Henry  went  from  there  to  the  castle.  But  he  did  not 
tread  upon  the  earth.  And  when  he  came  into  the  castle,  he 
found  that  they  had  already  been  asking  after  him  ;  but  he  was 
utterly  indifferent  to  that. 


154 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


VI.  THE  WATCHING. 

At  noon,  when  old  Lucas  came  from  the  castle  garden  to  his 
dinner,  lie  said,  "  Who  plays  me  these  tricks  ?  The  strange 
gardener  has  been  at  work  again,  the  beds  are  well  laid  out, 
levelled  and  enclosed,  and  some  are  set  out  with  flowers.  I  have 
watched  the  whole  morning,  but  as  before  to  no  purpose.  There 
is  something  wrong  in  the  business.  He  must  labor  at  night  by 
the  light  of  the  stars." 

In  the  evening,  as  Floretta  went  to  the  spring,  with  her  pail, 
it  occurred  to  her  that  perhaps  the  young  prince  was  the  gar- 
dener :  for  it  was  nearly  from  that  quarter  that  Henry  had  come 
when  he  approached  her  from  the  garden  that  morning  as  she 
stood  at  the  window, 

In  the  evening,  too,  when  the  Court  returned  from  its  sports, 
nothing  was  more  agreeable  to  Henry  than  to  wander  about  in 
every  part  of  the  garden.  He  came  to  the  spring — there  he 
found  Floretta's  hat.  He  took  it,  he  pressed  it  to  his  breast,  he 
kissed  it.  He  plucked  in  the  twilight  the  most  beautiful  flowers 
as  he  could  find  them,  brought  from  the  castle  a  handsome  sky- 
blue  ribbon,  and  bound  the  flowers  in  an  artificial  wreath  around 
the  hat.  Then  he  sped  to  the  house  of  the  gardener  ;  the  win- 
dows were  closed ;  all  were  asleep.  He  hung  the  bonnet  upon 
the  window. 

The  next  morning,  against  the  custom  of  the  house,  and  against 
her  own  heart,  Floretta  was  up  earlier  than  the  sun.  For  she  haa 
concluded  in  her  own  mind  to  give  her  father  pleasure,  and  dis- 
cover and  unmask  the  nightly  gardener.  Moreover,  she  might 
have  been  a  little  curious  on  her  own  account,  though  this  is  by- 
no  means  usual  with  young  maidens.  And  perhaps  there  was 
another  thought  in  her  mind,  which,  as  she  told  it  to  nobody, 
nobody  ought  to  know. 

When  she  had  dressed  herself  with  the  stillest  stillness,  and 
opened  the  window,  she  saw  the  hat  with  the  sky-blue  ribbon,  and 
the  great  flower  wreath  tied  round  it.  Now  she  first  recollected 
that  she  had  the  evening  before  left  her  bonnet  lying  near  the 


FLORETTA. 


155 


fountain.  First  she  laughed  at  the  ribbon  and  the  wreath,  but 
then  her  countenance  lowered. 

"  Ah,"  she  sighed,  "  he  has  been  up  earlier  than  I.  He  has 
already  been  here." 

Whom  she  meant  particularly  by  this  He,  she  did  not  say.  She 
looked  again  at  the  flowers,  loosened  them,  stuck  them  in  a  vessel 
of  fresh  water,  rolled  the  sky-blue  ribbon  together,  and  put  it  a  way 
with  the  rest  of  her  simple  ornaments.  Thereupon  she  stepped 
up  into  the  window,  out  of  the  window  down  upon  the  little  bench, 
and  from  the  little  bench  upon  the  hard  ground.  It  was  true, 
the  building  had  a  very  palpable  door  to  it,  but  this  was  locked, 
and  could  not  be  opened  without  considerable  noise. 

And  she  went  over  the  bridge,  and  remained  standing  quite 
undecided.  "  I  have  certainly  come  too  late.  He  works  by 
star-light,  as  father  guessed.  And  the  stars  have  already  gone 
and  the  sun  is  near  his  rising.  The  bushes  begin  to  glow  with 
the  red  streaks  of  dawn.  Yes,  I  have  come  too  late."  So  she 
thought  and  determined  to  return,  but  she  still  went  slowly  for- 
wards from  the  border  of  the  Baize  to  the  garden. 

"  But  if  he  should  be  really  here  !  What  would  he  think  of 
me,  coming  here  so  early  !  Must  he  not  believe  that  it  is  on  his 
account  ?  But  he  shan't  believe  that !  He  might — no,  I  will  go 
home,  get  my  pail  as  if  I  came  to  draw  water,  and  so  he  shan't 
think  that  I  have  come  on  his  account."  So  she  thought,  and 
again  determined  to  return,  but  again  went  slowly  forwards 
towards  the  spring  of  Garenne. 

Soon  she  heard  the  bubbling  of  the  water.  Soon  she  saw  the 
freshly  dug  garden-beds  drawn  around  the  fountain,  through  the 
bushes.  Yes,  she  discerned  with  pleasing  surprise  a  spade  in  the 
earth  of  one  of  the  beds. 

"  Surely,  he  can't  be  far,  when  his  implements  are  all  here. 
He  himself  is  no  more  there,  else  I  should  see  him.  Perhaps  he 
has  gone  to  dig  up  some  flowers,  in  order  to  transplant  them  here  ! 
I  will  conceal  myself ;  I  will  watch  him."  So  thought  Floretta, 
and  tripped  lightly,  gently  over  the  dewy  grass  behind  a  high 
green  bank  of  elms,  through  the  leaves  of  which,  all  unobserved 
herself,  she  could  observe  whatever  approached  the  spring. 

And  as  she  stood  hid,  her  heart  beat  violently.    For  when  the 


150 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


morning  breeze  gently  waved  the  trees,  she  believed  she  saw  the 
motion  of  some  one  coming.  If  a  bird  hopped  or  fluttered  on 
the  branches,  she  thought  she  perceived  a  walk.  But  she  was 
always  alarmed  to  no  purpose.  For  she  saw  no  one  approach, 
as  sharply  and  keenly  as  she  threw  her  eyes  about.v 


VII.  THE  SURPRISE. 

Thereupon  two  hands  were  laid  softly  over  her  eyes,  and  held 
them  shut ;  yet  they  were  strange  hands,  not  her  own.  The 
poor  child  was  very  much  frightened.  And  a  voice  whispered  in 
her  ear,  ;'  Now  guess,  Floretta,  who  it  is  ?" 

She  could  have  guessed  very  well  ;  for  on  the  strange  hands 
which  had  been  laid  over  her  eyes  from  behind,  she  felt  a  finger- 
ring.  Yet  she  did  not  say  what  she  thought,  but  cried  out  laugh- 
ing, "  I  know  you.  Thou  art  Jacqueline,  and  on  this  very  finger 
is  the  ring  which  Lubin  gave  you !" 

"Thou  art  wrong!"  whispered  the  voice  again  behind  her: 
"  and  as  thou  hast  not  guessed,  I  have  the  right  to  punish  you." 
And  the  lips  which  whispered  that,  imprinted  a  kiss  upon  Flo- 
retta's  beautiful  neck.  The  punishment  seemed  to  her  in  fact 
to  be  very  irritating,  for  she  wished  to  release  herself  suddenly. 
But  she  was  so  encircled,  that  she  could  not  move. 

When  she  saw  her  labor  in  vain,  she  cried  out :  "  Let  me  loose, 
Minette,  you  bad  girl ;  now  I  know  you.  You  want  to  repay 
me  for  holding  your  eyes,  when  three  weeks  ago  you  were  in 
an  interesting  conversation  with  Colas." 

"  Thou  art  wrong  again  !"  whispered  the  voice,  and  the  pun- 
ishment was  exchanged  this  time  for  three  kisses  on  her  gently 
bowed  neck. 

Floretta  started  at  every  kiss  and  begged  for  liberty,  but  re- 
ceived it  not.  Yet  her  liberty  was  not  so  important  a  matter, 
for  why  did  she  not  name  him,  whom  she  knew  ?  It  could  have 
been  only  from  sheer  caprice,  and  pretty  girls  are  at  times  very 
capricious.  Enough  ;  she  drew  upon  herself,  for  the  third  time, 
a  repetition  of  the  punishment,  and  said  :  "  So  it  is  then  no  one 


FLORETTA. 


157 


else  than  Rosine  Valdes,  the  worst,  most  mischievous  creature 
in  the  whole  village  or  neighborhood,  at  whom  I  yesterday  threw 
almonds,  through  the  open  window  into  her  room,  as  she  was 
sitting  alone,  thinking  of,  Heaven  knows  who.  How  you  were 
frightened  at  the  shower  of  almonds,  as  if  you  supposed  Heaven 
were  falling  in  !" 

"  Far  from  the  mark  !"  whispered  the  voice,  and  now  the 
kisses  on  the  neck  could  no  more  be  counted ;  they  followed 
each  other,  like  the  shower  of  almonds.  All  of  a  sudden,  Flo- 
retta  stepped  backwards  and  got  her  little  head  loose  from  her 
confinement.  She  turned  round.  There  stood  Henry.  There 
stood  Floretta.  Each  smiled  at  the  other.  She,  however, 
threatened  with  her  finger,  yet  modestly  and  playfully  said  : 
"  Could  I  believe  that  you  would  have  been  so  rude  ?  Before 
you,  my  young  lord,  we  must  be  on  our  guard." 

He  now  begged  pardon  for  his  boldness  :  had  he  not  done  so, 
the  crime  would  have  been  forgiven.  But  now  because  he  ask- 
ed for  mercy,  she  quickly  concluded  that  he  did  not  deserve  any 
favor.  Then  one  should  have  heard  what  touching  words  he 
spoke  to  soften  her  heart ;  then  one  should  have  seen  how  seri- 
ous and  frowning  she  was,  and  how  she  turned  herself  half  away 
from  him,  and  uttered  her  sharp  words  to  one  side.  Then  one 
should  have  seen  how  submissively  he  came  a  step  nearer,  and 
how  she  retreated  a  step  back  :  how  he  clasped  his  hands,  as  if 
to  pray  to  her,  and  she,  with  her  head  bent  down,  and  her  fingers 
on  the  elm  leaves,  tore  off  the  buds.  At  last  tears  rushed  into 
Floretta's  eyes,  so  deeply  grieved  was  she  by  his  boldness,  her 
voice  trembled  and  seemed  to  be  lost  in  sobs.  Nevertheless  he 
spoke  a  great  deal,  and  she  nevertheless  very  little,  and  pretend- 
ed not  to  hear  him  ;  plucked  all  the  foliage  from  the  nearest  tree, 
and  pressed  all  the  leaves  which  she  pulled  off  in  her  hands. 

When  he  saw  that  it  was  all  in  vain,  he  said  :  "  I  will  go,  if 
my  presence  is  so  disagreeable  to  you,  beautiful  Floretta  !  I 
will  go,  if  you  are  so  unforgiving  and  cannot  pardon  a  joke.  I 
will  go  and  never  come  before  your  presence  again.  Farewell. 
But  do  not  let  me  go,  without  the  consolation  that  you  are  not 
angry  with  me.  Say  only  the  one  word,  I  am  not  angry !"  he  sigh- 
ed, and  dropped  on  his  knee  before  her. 


158 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


She  looked  down  through  her  tears,  sweetly  smiling,  at  the 
fine  handsome  youth  ;  quite  dumb  but  thoughtful.  Then  the 
kneeling  one,  with  clasped  hands,  became  too  respectful.  She 
could  not  but  laugh,  and  taking  her  two  hands  full  of  leaves, 
threw  them  upon  his  head,  so  that  he  was  entirely  covered,  and 
then  ran  quickly  away. 

He  hastened  after  her.  Both  were  now  merry  again.  "  Now, 
confess  to  me,"  said  Floretta,  "  that  you  have  supplanted  my  fa- 
ther in  his  office,  and  made  a  new  garden  here." 

He  readily  confessed.  "  When  Floretta  comes  to  the  fountain, 
she  shall  think  of  me  even  against  her  will.  I  will  surround  it 
with  the  loveliest  flowers,  which  I  can  find  and  buy.  Could  I 
buy  all  the  joys  of  heaven,  I  would  encircle  thee  with  them." 

"  Very  good !"  answered  Floretta,  "  but,  young  sir,  my  fa- 
ther is  not  at  all  pleased  with  you.  You  disturb  his  garden,  and 
transplant  the  flowers  before  their  time,  so  that  they  die.  You 
have  not  even  once  watered  them." 

u  Had  I  only  an  instrument !" 

"  That  you  have  twenty  steps  from  here, — there,  where  the 
door  is  open  in  the  grotto,  you  would  have  found  one,  if  you  had 
only  looked  for  it  a  little." 

With  that  they  both  sprang  forward,  and  found  the  watering 
pot.  One  after  the  other  they  watered  the  flowers,  and  consult- 
ed how  the  circle  around  the  spring  might  be  beautified. 

Thus  the  time  flew,  and  Floretta  hastened  again  to  the  house 
of  her  father. 


VIII. — THE  EVENING. 

Now  the  Prince  labored  every  day  at  his  garden  plots.  It  gave 
him  great  delight.  Lucas  helped  him.  Floretta  was  also  ac- 
customed to  walk  up  and  down,  give  her  advice,  and  in  the  eve- 
ning, water  the  new  flowers.  Even  the  Queen  Johanna  came, 
and  saw  what  her  son  was  doing.  The  King  of  France  found 
little  in  it  to  his  taste,  the  Duke  of  Guise  still  less;  so  much 
the  more  the  Prince  of  Beam  himself. 


FLORETTA. 


159 


In  after  years  indeed  he  had  more  various,  more  brilliant, 
more  luxurious,  and  more  famous  amusements :  but  never 
sweeter  ones  than  in  the  simplicity  and  quiet  of  his  gardener's 
life,  illuminated  by  the  magic  of  first  love.  Floretta  and  Henry 
regarded  each  other  with  the  spontaneous  joy  of  innocence. 
They  played  with  each  other  like  children :  and  were  intimate 
as  brother  and  sister.  They  enjoyed  the  present  without  seeking 
to  penetrate  the  future,  and  their  guileless  passion  knew  no 
bounds.  Floretta  indeed  never  thought  that  she  had  won  the 
love  of  the  son  of  a  queen.  He  was  her  equal.  She  saw  in 
him  only  a  blooming,  strong,  spirited  youth.  In  his  grey  doublet, 
and  simple  dress,  which  he  wore  in  common  with  the  other  peo- 
ple of  the  country,  nothing  reminded  her  of  his  descent  nor  his 
elevated  destiny.  Henry,  on  the  other  hand,  troubled  himself 
little  for  the  great  or  the  beautiful  of  the  Court.  Near  Floretta 
nothing  else  was  beautiful,  and  in  the  quiet  delight  of  seeing  her, 
nothing  great.  His  look  ever  rested  upon  her  finely  formed 
figure,  even  while  he  toiled,  so  that  his  work  was  often  slack 
or  never  came  to  an  end.  But  who  can  refrain  from  admiring 
the  graces  ?  Every  limb  of  her  body  was  a  peculiar  beauty  ; 
every  movement  and  motion  was  easy  ;  every  word  full  of  inex- 
pressible power. 

One  thing  only  was  wrong  to  either  of  them  ;  the  days  in  the 
garden  were  shorter  than  the  days  out  of  the  garden.  In  order 
to  lengthen  them,  they  must  call  the  evening  to  their  help. 
True,  by  moonlight  or  starlight  they  could  not  work ;  but  then 
they  could  rest,  and  while  resting,  pleasantly  prattle  and  chat. 

"  I  shall  come  at  nine  o'clock,  a  little  after  supper,  to  the 
spring !"  said  Henry  softy  to  Floretta,  while  he  knelt  down  and 
planted,  "  And  thou,  Floretta  ?" 

"  But  my  father  will  by  that  time  have  gone  to  bed,"  she  replied. 

"  And  thou,  Floretta  ?"  he  whispered  again,  and  looked  up 
with  an  imploring  look. 

She  smilingly  nodded  her  head.  "  If  it  is  a  clear  bright  eve- 
ning." At  nine  o'clock  Henry  was  at  the  spring  of  Garenne. 
But  the  sky  was  clouded.  Floretta  was  not  there.  "  If  it  is  a 
clear,  bright  evening,"  she  said.  "  She  will  not  now  come,"  he 
thought.    There  was  a  rustling  through  the  shrubbery.  Flo- 


160 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


retta  came  with  the  water  pail  on  her  head  to  the  spring.  It  is 
always  clear  and  bright  to  happy  love.  He  took  down  the  bucket. 
He  thanked  her,  and  said  a  thousand  tender  words  to  her  ;  they 
forgot  that  the  sky  was  overcast.  It  was  clear  in  both  their 
bosoms. 

Several  large  drops  of  rain  fell  from  the  clouds.  They  ob- 
served them  not.  The  warm  May  rain  wet  them  at  length  more 
thoroughly,  and  drove  them  for  refuge  to  the  rock  grotto  behind  the 
fountain.  There  they  were  obliged  to  remain  about  half  an  hour. 
They  bore  this  little  mischance  without  complaint.  As  the 
moon  broke  through  the  clouds,  they  came  forward,  hand  in 
hand.  Henry  took  the  pail  full  of  water  upon  his  head.  Flo- 
retta  walked  by  his  side  leaning  upon  his  arm.  Thus  they  went 
to  the  house  of  old  Lucas.  He  was  already  asleep.  Henry 
gave  the  bucket  to  Floretta,  who  thanked  him  for  his  trouble. 
"  Good  night,  thou  sweet  Floretta !"  he  lisped.  "  Good  night, 
dear  friend,"  lisped  she. 


IX.  THE  WET  CAP. 

The  evenings  at  the  spring  never  seemed  tedious  to  them.  With 
clear  or  clouded  sky,  they  never  failed  to  be  there  at  tbe 
ninth  hour.  Thus  four  weeks  of  a  beautiful  spring  fled  away. 
Every  evening  the  Prince  carried  the  pail  of  his  love  to  her 
house. 

Floretta's  father  never  remarked  that  his  daughter,  since  that 
first  evening,  had  had  such  a  desire  to  make  her  customary  visit  to 
the  fountain  quite  late.  The  wise  Lagaucherie,  on  the  other  hand, 
perceived  that  his  royal  pupil  regularly  vanished  at  a  certain 
hour  when  darkness  approached,  and  that  the  top  of  his  cap  was 
wet.  every  evening,  let  the  evening  be  as  dry  as  it  could  be. 
Foi  a  long  time  he  could  not  solve  the  riddle.  The  young  Prince 
nevci  spoke  of  his  doings  ;  and  Lagaucherie  had  never  asked 
him.  Still  the  fact  impressed  him  as  rather  singular,  and  the 
wet  cap  of  the  young  Prince  excited  his  curiosity. 

To  gratify  this,  he  one  evening  secretly  pursued  the  night- 


FLORETTA. 


ltU 


wanderer.  He  followed  Henry  at  such  a  distance,  that  he  could 
not  easily  be  discovered  by  him.  He  saw  him  at  the  spring  of 
Garenne,  where  he  also  saw  a  female  form.  Both  suddenly  disap- 
peared. A  part  of  the  riddle  was  solved  to  the  Court  tutor.  Yet 
how  the  cap  of  the  Prince  became  wet,  was  still  a  very  great 
mystery.  He  had  already  waited  a  long  time.  He  drew  nearer 
and  nearer ;  he  overheard  their  whisperings.  After  a  little 
while,  he  saw  the  Prince  of  Bearn,  with  a  pail  full  of  water  on 
his  head,  and  a  girl  leaning  upon  his  arm,  take  his  way  towards 
the  cottage  of  the  gardener,  after  which  he  flew  back  to  the 
castle. 

The  Mentor  shook  his  head  considerately.  He  confided  his 
observation  privately  to  the  Queen.  The  mother  was  embar- 
rassed and  indignant.  She  wished  her  son  to  have  a  severe 
lecture. 

"  No,  gracious  lady,"  said  the  wise  Lagaucherie,  "  lectures 
cannot  extinguish  a  passion.  Punishments  and  reproofs  lend 
them  new  charms,  as  obstacles  only  swell  the  violence  of  a  stream. 
Men  conquer  temptation  the  easiest  by  flying  from  it.  We  anni- 
hilate passions  only  by  removing  their  nourishment,  or  supplant- 
ing them  by  nobler." 

Thus  spake  Lagaucherie.  The  Queen  agreed  with  him  in 
opinion,  and  discussed  the  measures  that  ought  to  be  pursued. 

The  next  morning  Lagaucherie  went  to  the  Prince,  and  im- 
pressed upon  his  mind  that  the  world  now  expected  him  to  become 
a  Doer,  that  he  must  prepare  himself  to  rule  ;  and  that  in  all 
conflicts,  whether  with  the  reverses  of  fate  or  the  propensities  of 
his  own  mind,  he  could  have  but  one  principle,  which  was  the 
foundation  of  all  religion  and  success,  viz.  to  conquer  or  die. 

After  this  introduction  Lagaucherie  informed  him  quite  acci- 
dentally that  the  Queen  with  her  court  would  betake  themselves 
the  next  day  to  the  castle  of  Pau,  where  Henry  would  remain  a 
short  time  at  his  birth-place,  and  then  ride  over  to  Bayonne  to  be 
a  witness  of  the  interview  between  the  King  of  France  and  the 
Queen  of  Spain. 

Henry  received  the  information  of  his  teacher  with  deep 
silence.  Yet  his  manner  betrayed  considerable  confusion.  La- 
gaucherie saw  this,  but  made  as  if  he  perceived  nothing  at  all  of 
12 


162 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


it.  He  quietly  turned  the  conversation  to  other  topics,  and  enter- 
tained the  Prince  with  various  incidents  and  narratives,  so  that 
he  had  no  time  to  reflect  upon  what  had  frightened  him.  The 
Queen,  on  her  side,  followed  the  lead  of  Lagaucherie.  She 
dwelt  upon  the  magnificent  assemblage  that  there  would  be  at 
Bayonne  ;  on  the  festivities  that  would  be  observed  ;  and  the 
distinguished  personages  he  would  meet.  What  could  Henry 
reply  ?  That  it  was  not  for  him  to  think  of  such  things,  but  to 
remain  at  Nerac.  How  could  he  have  dared  to  tell,  why  the 
meeting  at  the  spring  of  Garenne  was  infinitely  more  to  be  prized 
than  the  royal  interview  at  Bayonne  ? 


X.  TAKING  LEAVE. 

No  sooner  was  the  evening  star  in  the  sky,  than  the  young  Prince 
took  his  place  at  the  spring  of  the  castle  garden.  Floretta  soon 
came  tripping  in :  but  when  he  informed  her  of  their  near  sepa- 
ration, she  almost  dissolved  in  grief.  Who  can  picture  her  des- 
pair ;  or  who  write  down  what  Henry  suffered  ?  Wrapped  in  each 
other's  arms,  they  cried  and  complained,  and  comforted  each  other. 

"  Thou  art  leaving  me  now,  Henry,"  said  she  sobbing.  "  Now 
thou  wilt  forget  me.  I  am  alone  upon  the  earth.  Now  that 
thou,  my  sweet  life,  art  gone,  nothing  remains  to  me  but  sweet 
death." 

"  But,"  said  he,  "  I  go  not  for  ever.  I  shall  return  again.  Whose 
am  I,  if  I  am  not  yours.  I  am  truly  not  my  own,  since  I  am 
now  and  forever  thine.  What  is  worth  remembrance,  if  I  could 
forget  thee  ?  Thou  art  the  life,  of  my  fondest  recollections.  When 
I  forget  thee,  let  me  forget  to  breathe." 

"Oh  Henry,  thou  returnest  never  again  ;  and  should'st  thou 
return,  thou  wilt  not  know  Floretta  again.  I  shall  fade  like  the 
flower  without  the  dew.  Thou  art  my  sun  ;  how  shall  I  prosper 
if  thou  art  vanished  ?" 

"  No,  Floretta,  thou  art  more  fortunate  than  I.  For  thee,  still 
remains  the  play-place  of  our  blessedness — with  thee,  the  spring, 
with  thee,  this  garden.    I  live  in  all  these  flowers  for  thee :  on 


FLORETTA. 


163 


the  morrow,  when  I  have  lost  thee,  I  shall  be  driven  from  Para- 
dise. I  shall  be  in  the  desert,  among  thousands  of  others,  but 
alone.  Therefore,  shall  my  longing  stretch  back  to  thee  more 
anxiously.  Alas  !  only  a  single  little  flower,  which  has  bloomed 
on  the  borders  of  the  spring,  would  transport  me  when  I  am  far 
away.  When  those  that  are  around  me  shall  hate  me  or  only 
fear,  those  who  are  near  to  thee  will  love  thee.  Oh,  why  art  thou 
so  beautiful  ?  Who  would  not  love  thee  ?  Others,  will  idolize 
thee,  others  will  adore  thee,  and  ah  !  thou  wilt  find  others  more 
worthy  of  thy  love  V 

Thus  they  talked  a  long  while.  Tears,  oaths,  curses,  doubts, 
consolations  followed  each  other,  until  the  clock  in  the  tower  of 
the  castle  recalled  the  Prince,  and  warned  both  of  them  to 
separate. 

Then  Floretta  grasped  the  hand  of  the  Prince  with  deep  earn- 
estness, drew  it  to  her  heart,  and  said,  "  See'st  thou  this  spring  of 
Garenne  ?  There,  always  there  shalt  thou  find  me ;  always 
and  for  ever,  as  to-day!  And,  Henry,  look;  as  its  unfailing 
life  streams  forth  from  this  fountain,  so  shall  my  unconquerable 
love  stream  forth  to  thee  !  Yes,  Henry,  I  can  coase  to  live,  but 
not  to  love.  Thou  shalt  find  me  ever,  as  to-day.  Ever  there, 
ever  there  !" 

She  fled  away.  The  young  Prince  tottered  through  the  garden 
of  the  castle,  sobbing  and  miserable. 


XI.  THE  RETURN. 

The  distractions  of  travel  had  a  good  effect  upon  his  mind. 
He  conquered  his  pain.  The  first  fifteen  months  which  followed 
that  last  moment  at  the  spring,  quite  filled  his  head  with  other 
cares.  In  the  tumult  of  parties  which  then  distracted  France, 
on  the  field  of  battle,  war  awakened  the  entire  activity  of  his 
heroic  spirit,  which  afterwards  won  him  so  deathless  a  name. 
Already,  the  young  hero  had  become  the  admiration  of  brave 
men,  while  the  noble  women  at  the  court  of  Catherine  de  Medicis 


164 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


consoled  him  more  perhaps  than  was  necessary,  for  the  loss  of 
Floretta. 

The  lovely  Floretta  heard  of  the  fame  of  her  Lover,  and  how 
all  the  world  praised  him.  He  was  no  longer  the  gardener  who 
planted  flowers  by  her  side  ;  he  was  the  warrior,  who  marched 
about  to  earn  a  laurel-wreath.  She  had  only  loved  Henry,  and 
not  the  Prince  of  Beam.  His  brilliant  change  moved  less  her 
admiration  than  her  sorrow.  For  she  heard,  too,  how  the  beauties 
of  the  court  encircled  him,  while  he,  all  too  frivolous,  fluttered 
from  one  to  another. 

Floretta  had  never  in  the  world  known  or  loved  but  one  man  ; 
this  was  Henry.  Now  she  lost,  along  with  her  faith  in  him,  her 
faith  in  all  mankind.  But  in  that  she  broke  her  heart.  What  had 
come  and  must  come,  her  reason  in  vain  had  foreseen. 

Henry,  in  the  midst  of  his  marches,  came  at  last  once  again  to 
Nerac.  Once  only  Floretta  saw  the  Prince  of  Beam  with  the 
beautiful  Lady  of  Ayelle,  taking  a  pleasure  walk  through  the 
gardens  and  shrubberies  of  Garenne.  She  could  not  resist  the 
desire  to  meet  them  on  their  way. 

The  sight  of  Floretta,  who,  though  pale  and  sorrowful,  was 
even  more  beautiful  in  her  sorrow  than  she  had  been  in  the  flush 
of  her  gladness,  suddenly  revived  in  the  young  Prince  all  the 
memory  of  his  first  love.  He  was  disturbed.  The  lady  at  his 
side,  and  the  nearness  of  the  courtiers,  prevented  him  from 
yielding  to  his  wishes.  The  following  morning,  when  he  saw 
old  Lucas  in  the  garden,  he  glided  to  his  house.  He  found  Flo- 
retta alone  ;  but  the  speedy  return  of  her  father  hindered  him 
from  having  a  long  interview  with  her.  He  begged  for  one  short 
hour  at  the  spring  of  Garenne.  She  answered,  without  taking  her 
eyes  from  her  work,  "  At  eight  o'clock  I  shall  be  there  !" 

He  hastened  home.  He  felt  as  of  old.  His  whole  soul  burned 
for  Floretta.    He  could  hardly  wait  the  hour  of  appointment. 

It  was  dark  :  the  clock  had  struck  eight  hours.  In  order  that 
he  might  -not  meet  anybody,  he  went  out  by  a  private  gate  of 
the  town,  and  sought  a  foot-path  through  the  bushes,  which  he 
well  knew'.  He  arrived  at  the  spring.  His  heart  beat  violently. 
Floretta  was  not  yet  to  be  seen.  He  waited  for  some  time.  The 
rustling  of  the  leaves  in  the  night  air  several  times  startled  him 


FLORETTA. 


with  a  pleasant  alarm.  He  stretched  forth  his  arms  to  fly  to  meet 
her,  and  clasp  her  to  his  heart.  But  it  was  not  she.  Impatiently 
he  walked  back  and  forth.  Then,  at  a  little  distance  from  the 
spring,  he  saw  something  white  in  the  darkness,  like  a  piece  of  a 
dress.  He  ran  to  it.  It  was  a  strip  of  white  paper,  tied  to  an 
arrow,  and  a  rose  which  had  been  pierced.  The  paper  was 
inscribed,  but  the  darkness  of  the  night  prevented  him  from 
reading  it. 

Alarmed,  disquieted,  in  strong  agitation,  he  flew  back  to  the 
castle  and  sighed,  "  Ah  !  comes  she  not  again  ?  Sends  she  the 
arrow  back  to  me,  because  she  loves  me  no  more  ?" 

He  read  the  writing — only  these  words :  "  I  have  promised 
thee,  that  thou  should'st  find  me  at  the  spring.  Perhaps  thou 
may'st  pass  by,  without  seeing  me.  Look  again  ;  thou  wilt  cer- 
tainly find  me.  Thou  lovest  me  no  more  ;  therefore  I  live  no 
more  !  Oh  my  God,  forgive  !" 

Henry  grasped  the  meaning  of  the  words.  The  palace  re- 
echoed with  his  calls.  All  hurried  in  at  the  cries  of  the  Prince. 
Several  servants  with  lighted  torches  went  with  him  to  the  spring 
of  Garenne.  ■ 

Why  prolong  the  sad  tale  ?  The  corpse  of  the  beautiful 
maiden  was  found  in  the  small  lake  formed  by  the  waters  of  the 
spring.  It  was  buried  between  two  young  trees.  The  grief  of 
the  Prince  knew  no  bounds. 

Henry  IV.  is  still  a  demigod  among  the  people  of  France.  He 
accomplished  great  things.  He  lived  to  see  a  great  deal  of  life ; 
he  won  much,  and  he  lost  much.  But  a  heart,  he  never  again 
won,  so  pure  and  lovely  and  true  as  the  heart  of  Floretta  ;  and 
the  painful  memory  of  that  angel  was  what  he  never  lost. 

That  was  the  First  Love  of  Henry  IV.;  that,  the  only  Love. 
So  loved  he  never  again. 


IE¥  YEARS'  EVE. 


NEW  YEAR'S  EVE.  169 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  NEW-YEAR'S  EVE, 


i. 

Mother  Kate,  the  watchman's  wife,  at  nine  o'clock  on  New. 
Year's  eve  opened  her  little  window,  and  put#out  her  head  into 
the  night  air.  The  snow  was  reddened  by  the  light  from  the 
window  as  it  fell  in  silent  heavy  flakes  upon  the  street.  She 
observed  the  crowds  of  happy  people,  hurrying  to  and  fro  from 
the  brilliantly  lighted  shops  with  presents,  or  pouring  out  of  the 
various  inns  and  coffee-houses,  and  going  to  the  dances  and  other 
entertainments  with  which  the  New  Year  is  married  to  the  Old 
in  joy  and  pleasure.  But  when  a  few  cold  flakes  had  lighted 
on  her  nose  she  drew  back  her  head,  closed  the  window,  and 
said  to  her  husband,  "  Gottlieb,  stay  at  home,  and  let  Philip 
watch  for  thee  to-night ;  for  the  snow  comes  as  fast  as  it  can 
from  Heaven,  and  thou  knowest  the  cold  does  thy  old  bones  no 
good.  The  streets  will  be  gay  to-night.  There  seems  dancing 
and  feasting  in  every  house,  masqueraders  are  going  about,  and 
Philip  will  enjoy  the  sport." 

Old  Gottlieb  nodded  his  assent.  "I  am  willing,  Kate,"  he 
said.  "  My  barometer,  the  old  wound  above  my  knee,  has 
given  me  warning  the  last  two  days  of  a  change  of  weather. 
It  is  only  right  that  my  son  should  aid  me  in  a  service,  to  which 
he  will  be  my  successor." 

We  must  give  the  reader  to  understand,  that  old  Gottlieb  had 
been  a  sergeant  of  cavalry  in  one  of  the  king's  regiments,  until 
he  was  made  a  cripple  for  life  by  a  musket  ball,  as  he  was  the 


3  70 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


first  mounting  the  walls  of  a  hostile  fort  in  a  battle  for  his  father- 
land. The  officer  who  commanded  the  attack  received  the 
cross  of  honor  on  the  battle  field  for  his  heroism,  and  was  ad- 
vanced in  the  service ;  while  Gottlieb  was  fain  to  creep  home- 
wards on  a  pair  of  crutches.  From  pity  they  made  him  a 
schoolmaster,  for  he  was  intelligent,  liked  to  read,  and  wrote  a 
good  hand.  But  when  the  school  increased  they  took  it  away 
from  him  to  provide  for  a  young  man  who  could  do  none  of 
these  as  well  as  he,  merely  because  he  was  a  godson  of 
one  of  the  trustees.  However,  they  promoted  Gottlieb  to  the 
post  of  watchman,  with  the  reversion  of  it  to  his  son  Philip,  who 
had  in  the  mean-time  bound  himself  to  a  gardener.  It  was  only 
the  good  housewifery  of  Mistress  Katharine,  and  the  extreme 
moderation  of  old  Gottlieb,  that  enabled  them  to  live  happily  on 
the  little  they  possessed.  Philip  gave  his  services  to  the  gar- 
dener for  his  board  and  lodging,  but  he  occasionally  received 
very  fine  presents  when  he  carried  home  flowers  to  the  rich  peo- 
ple of  the  town.  He  was  a  fresh  handsome  young  fellow,  of 
six-and-twenty.  Noble  ladies  often  gave  him  sundry  extra 
dollars  for  his  fine  looks,  a  thing  they  would  never  have  thought 
of  doing  for  an  ugly  face.  Mrs.  Kate  had  already  put  on  her 
cloak  to  go  to  the  gardener's  house  to  fetch  her  son,  when  he 
entered  the  apartment. 

"Father,"  said  Philip,  giving  a  hand  to  both  father  and 
mother,  "  it's  snowing,  and  the  snow  won't  do  you  much  good. 
I'll  take  the  watch  to-night,  and  you  can  get  to  bed." 

"  You're  a  good  boy,"  said  old  Gottlieb. 

" And  then  I've  been  thinking,"  continued  Philip,  "that  as 
to-morrow  is  New  Year's  day,  I  may  come  and  dine  with 
you  and  make  myself  happy.  Mother  perhaps  has  no  joint  in 
the  kitchen,  and"  

"  No."  interrutped  the  mother,  "  we've  no  joint,  but  then  we 
have  a  pound  and  a  half  of  venison ;  with  potatoes  for  a  relish, 
and  a  little  rice  with  laurel  leaves  for  a  soup,  and  two  flasks  of 
beer  to  drink.  Only  come,  Philip,  for  we  shall  live  finely  to-mor- 
row !  Next  week  we  may  do  better,  for  the  New  Year's  gifts 
will  be  coming  in,  and  Gottlieb's  share  will  be  somethin  !  Oh  ' 
we  shall  live  grandly." 


NEW  YEAR'S  EVE. 


171 


"  Well,  so  much  the  better,  dear  mother,"  said  Philip  ;  "  but 
have  you  paid  the  rent  of  the  cottage  yet?" 
Old  Gottlieb  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
Philip  laid  a  purse  upon  the  table. 

"  There  are  two-and-twenty  dollars  that  I  have  saved.  I  can 
do  very  well  without  them  ;  take  them  for  a  New  Year's  gift, 
and  then  we  can  all  three  enter  on  the  new  year  without  a  deb+ 
or  a  care.  God  grant  that  we  may  end  it  in  health  and  hap 
piness.  Heaven  in  its  goodness  will  provide  for  both  you  and 
me  !" 

Tears  came  into  Mother  Katharine's  eyes  as  she  kissed  her 
son ;  old  Gottlieb  said,  "  Philip,  you  are  the  prop  and  stay 
of  our  old  age.  Continue  to  be  honest  and  good,  and  to  love 
your  parents,  so  will  a  blessing  rest  on  you.  I  can  give  you 
nothing  for  a  New  Year's  gift,  but  a  prayer  that  you  may  keep 
your  heart  pure  and  true — this  is  in  your  power — you  will  be 
rich  enough — for  a  clear  conscience  is  a  Heaven  in  itself." 

So  said  old  Gottlieb,  and  then  he  wrote  down  in  an  account- 
book,  the  sum  of  two-and-twenty  dollars  that  his  son  had  given 
him. 

"  All  that  you  have  cost  me  in  childhood  is  now  nearly  paid 
up.  Your  savings  amount  to  three  hundred  and  seventeen 
dollars  which  I  have  received.'' 

"  Three  hundred  and  seventeen  dollars  !"  cried  Mistress 
Katharine,  in  the  greatest  amazement — and  then  turning  to 
Philip  with  a  voice  full  of  tenderness,  "  Ah,  Philip,"  she  said, 
"  thou  grievest  me.  Child  of  my  heart !  Yes,  indeed  thou  dost. 
Hadst  thou  saved  that  money  for  thyself  thou  might  have  bought 
some  land  with  it,  and  started  as  gardener  on  thy  own  account, 
and  married  Rose.  Now  that  is  impossible.  But  take  comfort, 
Philip.    We  are  old,  and  thou  will  not  have  to  support  us  long." 

"  Mother,"  exclaimed  Philip,  and  he  frowned  a  little  ;  "what 
are  you  thinking  of  ?  Rose  is  dear  to  me  as  my  life,  but  I  would 
give  up  a  hundred  Roses  rather  than  desert  you  and  my  father. 
I  should  never  find  any  other  parents  in  this  world  but  you,  but 
there  are  plenty  of  Roses,  although  I  would  have  none  but  Mi  s. 
Littner's  Rose,  were  there  even  ten  thousand  others." 

"You  are  right,  Philip."  said  Gottlieb  ;  "loving  and  marrying 


172 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


are  not  in  the  commandments — but  to  honor  your  father  and 
mother  is  a  duty  and  commandment.  To  give  up  strong  passions 
and  inclinations  for  the  happiness  of  your  parents  is  the  truest 
gratitude  of  a  son.  It  will  gain  you  the  blessing  from  above  : — 
it  will  make  you  rich  in  your  own  heart." 

"If  it  were  only  not  too  long  for  Rose  to  wait,"  said  Mrs. 
Katharine,  "or  if  you  could  give  up  the  engagement  altogether! 
For  Rose  is  a  pretty  girl,  that  can't  be  denied ;  and  though  she 
is  poor,  there  will  be  no  want  of  wooers.  She  is  virtuous  and 
understands  housekeeping." 

"  Never  fear,  mother,"  replied  Philip  ;  "  Rose  has  solemnly 
sworn  to  marry  no  man  but  me  ;  and  that  is  sufficient.  Her 
mother  has  nothing  to  object  to  me.  And  if  I  was  in  business 
and  had  money  enough  to  keep  a  wife  with,  Rose  would  be  my 
wife  to-morrow.  The  only  annoyance  we  have  is,  that  her 
mother  will  not  let  us  meet  so  often  as  we  wish.  She  says  fre- 
quent meetings  do  no  good  ;  but  I  differ  from  her,  and  so  does 
Rose — for  we  think  meeting  often  does  us  both  a  great  deal 
of  good.  And  we  have  agreed  to  meet  to-night,  at  twelve 
o'clock,  at  the  great  door  of  St.  Gregory's  church,  for  Rose  is 
bringing  in  the  year  at  a  friend's  house ;  and  I  am  to  take  her 
home." 

In  the  midst  of  such  conversation  the  clock  of  the  neighboring 
tower  struck  three  quarters,  and  Philip  took  his  father's  great- 
coat from  the  warm  stove  where  Katharine  had  carefully  laid  it, 
wrapped  himself  in  it,  and  taking  the  lanthorn  and  staff,  and  wish- 
ing his  parents  good  night,  proceeded  to  his  post. 


IL 

Philip  stalked  majestically  through  the  snow-covered  streets  of 
the  Capital,  where  as  many  people  were  still  visible  as  in  the 
middle  of  the  day.  Carriages  were  rattling  in  all  directions, 
the  houses  were  all  brilliantly  lighted.  Our  watchman  enjoyed 
the  scene,  he  sang  his  verses  at  ten  o'clock,  and  blew  his  horn 
lustily  in  the  neighborhood  of  St.  Gregory's  church,  with  many 


NEW  YEAR'S  EVE. 


173 


a  thought  on  Rose,  who  was  then  with  her  friend.  "  Now,  she 
hears  me,"  he  said  to  himself ;  "  now  she  thinks  on  me,  and 
forgets  the  scene  around  her.  I  hope  she  won't  fail  me  at  twelve 
o'clock  at  the  church  door."  And  when  he  had  gone  his  round, 
he  always  returned  to  the  dear  house  and  looked  up  at  the  lighted 
window.  Sometimes  he  saw  female  figures,  and  his  heart  beat 
quick  at  the  sight ;  sometimes  he  fancied  he  saw  Rose  herself ; 
and  sometimes  he  studied  the  long  shadows  thrown  on  the  wall  or 
the  ceiling  to  discover  which  of  them  was  Rose's  and  to  fancy  what 
she  was  doing.  It  was  certainly  not  a  very  pleasant  employ- 
ment to  stand  in  frost  and  snow  and  look  up  at  a  window ;  but 
what  care  lovers  for  frost  and  snow  ?  And  watchmen  are  as 
fiery  and  romantic  lovers  as  ever  were  the  knights  of  ancient 
ballads. 

He  only  felt  the  effects  of  the  frost  when,  at  eleven  o'clock, 
he  had  to  set  out  upon  his  round.  His  teeth  chattered  with  cold  ; 
he  could  scarcely  call  the  hour  or  sound  his  horn.  He  would 
willingly  have  gone  into  a  beer-house  to  warm  himself  at  the 
fire.  As  he  was  pacing  through  a  lonely  by-street,  he  met  a 
man  with  a  black  half-mask  on  his  face,  enveloped  in  a  fire- 
colored  silken  mantle,  and  wearing  on  his  head  a  magnificent 
hat  turned  up  at  one  side,  and  fantastically  ornamented  with  a 
number  of  high  and  waving  plumes. 

Philip  endeavored  to  escape  the  mask,  but  in  vain.  The 
stranger  blocked  up  his  path  and  said — "  Ha  !  thou  art  a  fine 
fellow  ;  I  like  thy  phiz  amazingly.  Where  are  you  going,  eh  ? 
I  say,  where  are  you  going  ?" 

"  To  Mary  Street,"  replied  Philip.  "  I  am  going  to  call  the 
hour  there." 

"Enchanting!"  answered  the  mask.  "I'll  hear  thee:  I'll 
go  with  thee.  Come  along !  thou  foolish  fellow,  and  let  me  hear 
thee,  and  mind  thousingest  well,  for  I  am  a  good  judge.  Canst 
thou  sing  me  a  jovial  song  ?" 

Philip  saw  that  his  companion  was  of  high  rank  and  a  little 
tipsy,  and  answered — "  I  sing  better  over  a  glass  of  wine  in  a 
warm  room,  than  when  up  to  my  waist  in  snow." 

They  had  now  reached  Mary  Street,  and  Philip  sang,  and 
blew  the  horn. 


174 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


"  Ha  !  that's  but  a  poor  performance,"  exclaimed  the  mask 
who  had  accompanied  him  thither.  "  Give  me  the  horn  !  I 
shall  blow  so  well,  that  you'll  half  die  with  delight." 

Philip  yielded  to  the  mask's  wishes,  and  let  him  sing  the  verses 
and  blow.  For  four  or  five  times  all  was  done  as  if  the  stranger 
had  been  a  watchman  all  his  life.  He  dilated  most  eloquently 
on  the  joys  of  such  an  occupation,  and  was  so  inexhaustible  in 
his  own  praises,  that  he  made  Philip  laugh  at  his  extravagance. 
His  spirits  evidently  owed  no  small  share  of  their  elevation  to  an 
extra  glass  of  wine. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,  my  treasure,  I've  a  great  fancy  to  be  a 
watchman  myself  for  an  hour  or  two.  If  I  don't  do  it  now,  I 
shall  never  arrive  at  that  honor  in  the  course  of  my  life.  Give 
me  your  great-coat  and  wide-brimmed  hat,  and  take  my  domino. 
Go  into  a  beer-house  and  take  a  bottle  at  my  expense  ;  and 
when  you  have  finished  it,  come  again  and  give  me  back  my 
masking-gear.  You  shall  have  a  couple  of  dollars  for  your 
trouble.    What  do  you  think,  my  treasure  ?" 

But  Philip  did  not  like  this  arrangement.  At  last,  however, 
at  the  solicitations  of  the  mask,  he  capitulated  as  they  entered  a 
dark  lane.  Philip  was  half  frozen  ;  a  warm  drink  would  do 
him  good,  and  so  would  a  warm  fire.  He  agreed  for  one  half- 
hour  to  give  up  his  watchmanship,  which  would  be  till  twelve 
o'clock.  Exactly  at  that  time  the  stranger  was  to  come  to  the 
great  door  of  St.  Gregory's  and  give  back  the  great  coat,  horn, 
and  staff,  taking  back  his  own  silk  mantle,  hat,  and  domino. 
Philip  also  told  him  the  four  streets  in  which  he  was  to  call  the 
hour.  The  mask  was  in  raptures :  "  Treasure  of  my  heart,  I 
could  kiss  thee  if  thou  wert  not  a  dirty  miserable  fellow  !  But  thou 
shalt  have  naught  to  regret,  if  thou  art  at  the  church  at  twelve,  for 
I  will  give  thee  money  for  a  supper  then.  Joy !  I  am  a  watch- 
man !"  The  mask  looked  a  watchman  to  the  life,  while  Philip 
was  completely  disguised  with  the  half-mask  tied  over  his  face, 
the  bonnet  ornamented  with  a  buckle  of  brilliants,  on  his  head, 
and  the  red  silk  mantle  thrown  around  him.  When  he  saw  his 
companion  commence  his  walk,  he  began  to  fear  that  the  young 
gentleman  might  compromise  the  dignity  of  the  watchman.  He 
therefore  addressed  him  once  more,  and  said : 


NEW  YEAR'S  EVE. 


175 


"  I  hope  you  will  not  abuse  my  good  nature  and  do  any  mis- 
chief or  misbehave  in  any  way,  as  it  may  cost  me  the  situation." 

"  Hallo  !"  answered  the  stranger.  "  What  are  you  talking 
about?  Do  you  think  I  don't  know  my  duty?  Off  with  you 
this  moment,  or  I'll  let  you  feel  the  weight  of  my  staff.  But 
come  to  St.  Gregory's  church  and  give  me  back  my  clothes  at 
twelve  o'clock.    Good-bye.    This  is  glorious  fun  !" 

The  new  guardian  of  the  streets  walked  onward  with  all  the 
dignity  becoming  his  office,  while  Philip  hurried  to  a  neighboring 
tavern. 


III. 

Ac  he  was  passing  the  door  of  the  Royal  palace,  he  was  laid 
hold  of  by  a  person  in  a  mask  who  had  alighted  from  a  carriage. 
Philip  turned  round,  and  in  a  low  whispering  voice  asked  what 
the  stranger  wanted. 

"My  gracious  lord,"  answered  the  mask,  "in  your  reverie 
you  have  passed  the  door.    Will  your  Royal  Highness  " 

"  What  ?  Royal  Highness?"  said  Philip,  laughing.  "  I  am  no 
highness.    What  put  that  in  your  head  ?" 

The  mask  bowed  respectfully,  and  pointed  to  the  brilliant 
buckle  in  Philip's  hat.  "  I  ask  your  pardon  if  I  have  betrayed 
your  disguise.  But,  in  whatever  character  you  assume,  your 
noble  bearing  will  betray  you.  Will  you  condescend  to  lead  the 
way  ?    Does  your  Highness  intend  to  dance  ?" 

"If  To  dance?"  replied  Philip.  "No — you  see  I  have 
boots  on." 

"  To  play,  then  ?"  inquired  the  mask. 

"  Still  less.  I  have  brought  no  money  with  me,"  said  the  as- 
sistant watchman. 

"  Good  heaven ! "  exclaimed  the  mask.  "  Command  my 
purse — all  that  I  possess  is  at  your  service  !  "  Saying  this,  he 
foiced  a  full  purse  into  Philip's  hand. 

"  But  do  you  know  who  I  am  ?"  inquired  Philip,  and  rejected 
the  purse. 


176 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


The  mask  whispered  with  a  bow  of  profound  obeisance — "  His 
Royal  Highness,  Prince  Julian." 

At  this  moment  Philip  heard  his  deputy  in  an  adjoining  street 
calling  the  hour  very  distinctly,  and  he  now  became  aware  of 
his  metamorphosis.  Prince  Julian,  who  was  well  known  in  the 
capital  as  an  amiable,  wild,  and  good-hearted  young  man,  had 
been  the  person  with  whom  he  had  changed  his  clothes.  "  Now, 
then,"  thought  Philip,  "  as  he  enacts  the  watchman  so  well,  I 
will  not  shame  his  rank  ;  I'll  see  if,  for  one  half  hour,  I  can't  be 
the  prince.  If  I  make  any  mistake,  he  has  himself  to  blame  for 
it."  He  wrapped  the  red  silken  mantle  closer  round  him,  took 
the  offered  purse,  put  it  in  his  pocket,  and  said, — "  Who  are  you, 
mask  ?  I  will  return  your  gold  to-morrow." 

"I  am  the  Chamberlain  Pilzou." 

"  Good — lead  the  way — I'll  follow."  The  chamberlain 
obeyed,  and  tripped  up  the  marble  stairs,  Philip  coming  close  be- 
hind him.  They  entered  an  immense  hall  lighted  by  a  thousand 
tapers  and  dazzling  chandeliers,  which  were  reflected  by  bril- 
liant mirrors.  A  confused  crowd  of  maskers  jostled  each  other, 
sultans,  Tyrolese,  harlequins,  knights  in  armor,  nuns,  goddesses, 
satyrs,  monks,  Jews,  Medes,  and  Persians.  Philip  for  a  while 
was  abashed  and  blinded.  Such  splendor  he  had  never  dreamt 
of.  In  the  middle  of  the  hall  the  dance  was  carried  on  by 
hundreds  of  people  to  the  music  of  a  full  band.  Philip,  whom 
the  heat  of  the  apartment  recovered  from  his  frozen  state, 
was  so  bewildered  with  the  scene  that  he  could  scarcely  nod  his 
head  as  different  masks  addressed  him,  some  confidentially, 
others  deferentially. 

"  Will  you  go  to  the  hazard  table  ?"  whispered  the  Chamber- 
lain, who  stood  beside  him,  and  who  Philip  now  saw  was  dressed 
as  a  Brahmin. 

"  Let  me  get  unthawed  first,"  answered  Philip  ;  "  I  am  an 
icicle  at  present." 

"  A  glass  of  warm  punch  ?"  inquired  the  Brahmin,  and  led 
him  into  the  refreshment-room.  The  pseudo-prince  did  not  wait 
for  a  second  invitation,  but  emptied  one  glass  after  the  other  n 
short  time.  The  punch  was  good,  and  it  spread  its  genial 
warmth  through  Philip's  veins. 


NEW  YEAR'S  EVE. 


177 


"  How  is  it  you  don't  dance  to-night,  Brahmin  ?"  he  asked 
of  his  companion,  when  they  returned  into  the  hall.  The  Brah- 
min sighed,  and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  I  have  no  pleasure  now  in  the  dance.  Gaiety  is  distasteful 
to  me.  The  only  person  I  care  to  dance  with — the  Countess 
Bonau — I  thought  she  loved  me  ;  our  families  offered  no  objec- 
tion— but  all  at  once  she  broke  with  me."  His  voice  trembled 
as  he  spoke. 

"  How  ?"  said  Philip,  "  I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing." 

"  You  never  heard  of  it  V  repeated  the  other,  "  the  whole  city 
rings  with  it.  The  quarrel  happened  a  fortnight  ago,  and  she 
will  not  allow  me  to  justify  myself,  but  has  sent  back  three  let- 
ters I  wrote  to  her,  unopened.  She  is  a  declared  enemy  of  the 
Baroness  Reizenthal,  and  had  made  me  promise  to  drop  her 
acquaintance.  But,  think  how  unfortunate  I  was  !  When  the 
Queen-mother  made  the  hunting  party  to  Freudenwald,  she  ap- 
pointed me  cavalier  to  the  Baroness.  What  could  I  do  1  It  was 
impossible  to  refuse.     On  the  very  birthday  of  the  adorable 

Bonau  I  was  obliged  to  set  out  She  heard  of  it.  . 

.    She  put  no  trust  in  my  heart !" 

"Well,  then,  Brahmin,  take  advantage  of  the  present  mo- 
ment. .  The  new  year  makes  up  all  quarrels.  Is  the  Countess 
here  ?" 

"  Do  you  not  see  her  over  there — the  Carmelite  on  the  left  of 
the  third  pillar  beside  the  two  black  dominos.  She  has  laid 
aside  her  mask.    Ah,  Prince  !  your  intercession  would"  

Philip  thought :  now  I  can  do  a  good  work  !  and,  as  the  punch 
had  inspired  him,  he  walked  directly  to  the  Carmelite.  The 
Countess  Bonau  looked  at  him  for  some  time  seriously,  and  with 
flushed  cheeks,  as  he  sat  down  beside  her.  She  was  a  beautiful 
girl ;  yet  Philip  remained  persuaded  that  Rose  was  a  thousand 
times  more  beautiful. 

"  Countess,"  he  said, — and  became  embarrassed  when  he  met 
her  clear  bright  eye  fixed  upon  him. 

"  Prince,"  said  the  Countess,  "  an  hour  ago  you  were  some- 
what too  bold." 

"  Fair  Countess,  I  am  therefore  at  this  present  moment  the 
more  quiet." 

13 


178 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


"  So  much  the  better.  I  shall  not,  then,  be  obliged  to  keep 
out  of  your  way." 

"  Fair  lady,  allow  me  to  ask  one  question.  Have  you  put  on 
a  nun's  gown  to  do  penance  for  your  sins  ?" 

"  I  have  nothing  to  do  penance  for." 

"  But  you  have,  Countess  ! — your  cruelties — your  injustice 
to  the  poor  Brahmin  yonder,  who  seems  neglected  by  his  God 
and  all  the  world  ?" 

The  beautiful  Carmelite  cast  down  her  eyes,  and  appeared 
uneasy. 

"  And  do  you  know,  fair  Countess,  that  in  the  Freudenwald 
affair  the  Chamberlain  is  as  innocent  as  I  am  ?" 

"  As  you,  Prince  ?"  said  the  Countess,  frowning — "  what  did 
you  tell  me  an  hour  ago  ?" 

"  You  are  right,  dear  Countess,  I  was  too  bold.  You  said  so 
yourself.  But  now  I  declare  to  you  the  Chamberlain  was 
obliged  to  go  to  Freudenwald  by  command  of  the  Queen-mother 
— against  his  will  was  obliged  to  be  cavalier  to  the  hated 
Reizenthal" — 

"  Hated — by  him  ?" — interrupted  the  Countess  with  a  bitter 
and  sneering  lau^h. 

"  Yes — he  hates, — he  despises  the  Baroness.  Believe  me, 
he  scarcely  treated  her  with  civility,  and  incurred  the  Royal 
displeasure  by  so  doing.  I  know  it ;  and  it  was  for  your  sake. 
You  are  the  only  person  he  loves — to  you  he  offers  his  hand, 
his  heart — and  you  ! — you  reject  him  I" 

"  How  comes  it,  Prince,  that  you  intercede  so  warmly  for 
Pilzou  ?    You  did  not  do  so  formerly." 

"  That  was  because  I  did  not  know  him,  and  still  less  the  sad 
state  into  which  you  have  thrown  him  by  your  behavior.  I 
swear  to  you  he  is  innocent — you  have  nothing  to  forgive  in  him 
— he  has  much  to  forgive  in  you." 

"  Hush  !"  whispered  the  Carmelite,  "  we  are  watched  here  ; 
away  from  this."  She  replaced  her  mask,  stood  up,  and  placing 
her  arm  within  that  of  the  supposed  Prince,  they  crossed  the 
hall  and  entered  a  side-room.  The  Countess  uttered  many 
bitter  complaints  against  the  Chamberlain,  but  they  were  the 
complaints  of  jealous  love.    The  Countess  was  in  tears,  when 


NEW  YEAR'S  EVE. 


179 


the  tender  Brahmin  soon  after  came  timidly  into  the  apartment. 
There  was  a  deep  silence  among  the  three.  Philip,  not  know- 
ing how  to  conclude  his  intercession  better,  led  the  Brahmin  to 
the  Carmelite,  and  joined  their  hands  together,  without  saying  a 
word,  and  left  them  to  fate.    He  himself  returned  into  the  hall. 


IV. 

Here  he  was  hastily  addressed  by  a  Mameluke — "  I'm  giaa  1 
have  met  you,  Domino.  Is  the  Rose-girl  in  the  side-room  ?" 
The  Mameluke  rushed  into  it,  but  returned  in  a  moment 
evidently  disappointed.  "  One  word  alone  with  you,  Domino," 
he  said,  and  led  Philip  into  a  window  recess  in  a  retired  part  of 
the  hall. 

"  What  do  you  want?"  asked  Philip. 

" 1  beseech  you,"  replied  the  Mameluke,  in  a  subdued  yet 
terrible  voice,  "  where  is  the  Rose-girl  ?" 
"  What  is  the  Rose-girl  to  me  V* 

"  But  to  me  she  is  everything  !"  answered  the  Mameluke, 
whose  suppressed  voice  and  agitated  demeanor  showed  that  a 
fearful  struggle  was  going  on  within.  "  To  me  she  is  every- 
thing. She  is  my  wife.  You  make  me  wretched,  Prince !  I 
conjure  you  drive  me  not  to  madness.  Think  of  my  wife  no 
more  ?" 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  answered  Philip,  drily ;  "  what  have  I 
to  do  with  your  wife  ?" 

'  Oh,  Prince,  Prince !"  exclaimed  the  Mameluke,  "  I  have 
made  a  resolve  which  I  shall  execute  if  it  cost  me  my  life.  Do 
not  seek  to  deceive  me  a  moment  longer.  I  have  discovered 
everything.  Here  !  look  at  this  !  'tis  a  note  my  false  wife  slipt 
into  your  hand,  and  which  you  dropt  m  the  crowd,  without 
having  read." 

Philip  took  the  note.  "Swae  written  in  pencil,  and  in  a  fine 
delicate  hand — "Change  your  mask.  Everybody  knows  you. 
My  husband  watches  you.  He  does  not  know  me.  If  you 
obey  me  I  will  reward  you." 


180 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


"  Hem  !"  muttered  Philip.  "  As  I  live,  this  was  not  written 
to  me.    I  don't  trouble  my  head  about  your  wife." 

"  Death  and  fury,  Prince  !  do  not  drive  me  mad !  Do  you 
know  who  it  is  that  speaks  to  you?  I  am  the  Marshal  Blank- 
enswerd.  Your  advances  to  my  wife  are  not  unknown  to  me, 
ever  since  the  last  route  at  the  palace." 

"  My  Lord  Marshal,"  answered  Philip,  "  excuse  me  for  say- 
ing that  jealousy  has  blinded  you.  If  you  knew  me  well,  you 
would  not  think  of  accusing  me  of  such  folly.  I  give  you  my 
word  of  honor  J  will  never  trouble  your  wife." 

"  Are  you  in  earnest,  Prince  ?" 

"  Entirely." 

'  Give  me  a  proof  of  this  ?" 
"  Whatever  you  require." 

"  I  know  you  have  hindered  her  until  now  from  going  with 
me  to  visit  her  relations  in  Poland.    Will  you  persuade  her  to 

do  so  now  ?" 

"  With  all  my  heart,  if  you  desire  it." 

"  Ye-s,  yes !  and  your  Royal  Highness  will  prevent  incon- 
ceivable and  unavoidable  misery." 

The  Mameluke  continued  for  some  time,  sometimes  begging 
and  praying,  and  sometimes  threatening  so  furiously,  that  Philip 
feared  he  might  make  a  scene  before  the  whole  assembly  that 
would  not  have  suites  .iim  precisely.  He  therefore  quitted  him 
as  soon  as  possible.  Scarcely  had  he  lost  himself  in  the  crowd, 
when  a  female,  closely  wrapped  in  deep  mourning,  tapped  him 
familiarly  on  the  arm,  and  whispered  : 

"  Butterfly,  whither  away  ?  Have  you  no  pity  for  the  discon- 
solate Widow  ?" 

Philip  answered  very  politely,  "  Beautiful  widows  find  no  lack 
of  comforters.  May  I  venture  to  include  myself  amongst 
them  ?" 

"  Why  are  you  so  disobedient  ?  and  why  have  you  not  changed 
your  mask  ?"  said  the  Widow,  while  she  led  him  aside,  that 
they  might  speak  more  freely.  "  Dg  you  really  fancy,  Prince, 
that  every  one  here  does  not  know  who  you  are  V 

"  They  are  very  much  mistaken  in  me,  I  assure  you,"  re- 
plied Philip. 


NEW  YEAR'S  EVE. 


181 


"  No,  indeed,"  answered  the  Widow,  "  they  know  you  very 
well,  and  if  you  do  not  immediately  change  your  apparel,  I 
shall  not  speak  to  you  again  the  whole  evening  :  I  have  no 
desire  to  give  my  husband  an  opportunity  of  making  a  scene." 

By  this  Philip  discovered  who  he  was  talking  with.  "You 
were  the  beautiful  Rose-girl  ;  are  your  roses  withered  so  soon  ?" 

"  What  is  there  that  does  not  wither  ?  not  the  constancy  of 
man?  I  saw  you  when  you  slipt  off  with  the  Carmelite.  Ac- 
knowledge your  inconstancy — you  can  deny  it  no  longer." 

"  Hem," — answered  Philip  drily,  "  accuse  me  if  you  will,  I 
can  return  the  accusation." 

"  How, — pretty  butterfly  ?" 

"  Why,  for  instance  there  is  not  a  more  constant  man  alive 
than  the  Marshal." 

"  There  is  not  indeed  ! — and  I  am  wrong,  very  wrong  to  have 
listened  to  you  so  long.  I  reproached  myself  enough,  but  he  has 
unfortunately  discovered  our  flirtation." 

"  Since  the  last  route  at  Court,  fair  Widow" — 

"  Where  you  were  so  unguarded  and  particular — pretty  but- 
terfly r 

"  Let  us  repair  the  mischief.  Let  us  part.  I  honor  the 
Marshal,  and,  for  my  part,  do  not  like  to  give  him  pain." 

The  Widow  looked  at  him  for  some  time  in  speechless  amaze- 
ment. 

"  If  you  have  indeed  any  regard  for  me,"  continued  Philip, 
"  you  will  go  with  the  Marshal  to  Poland,  to  visit  your  relations. 
'Tis  better  that  we  should  not  meet,  so  often.  A  beautiful 
woman  is  beautiful — but  a  pure  and  virtuous  woman  is  more 
beautiful  still." 

"  Prince  !"  cried  the  astonished  Widow,  "  are  you  really  in 
earnest  ?  Have  you  ever  loved  me,  or  have  you  all  along  de- 
ceived i" 

"Look  you,"  answered  Philip,  "I  am  a  tempter  of  a  peculiar 
kind.  I  search  constantly  among  women  to  find  truth  and  vir- 
tue, and  'tis  but  seldom  that  I  encounter  them.  Only  the  true 
and  virtuous  can  keep  me  constant — therefore  1  am  true  to 
none  ;  but  no  !  I  will  not  lie — there  is  one  that  keeps  me  in  her 
chains — I  am  sorry,  fair  Widow,  that  that  one — is  not  you  !" 


182 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


"  You  are  in  a  strange  mood  to-night,  Prince,"  answered  the 
Widow,  and  the  trembling  of  her  voice  and  heaving  of  her 
bosom  showed  the  working  of  her  mind. 

"No,"  answered  Philip,  "  I  am  in  as  rational  a  mood  to-night 
as  I  ever  was  in  my  life.  I  wish  only  to  repair  an  injury;  I 
have  promised  to  your  husband  to  do  so." 

"  How  !"  exclaimed  the  Widow,  in  a  voice  of  terror,  "  you 
have  discovered  all  to  the  Marshal  ?" 

"  Not  everything,"  answered  Philip,  "  only  what  I  knew." 

The  widow  wrung  her  hands  in  the  extremity  of  agitation,  and 
at  last  said,  "  Where  is  my  husband  ?" 

Philip  pointed  to  the  Mameluke,  who  at  this  moment  ap- 
proached them  with  slow  steps. 

"  Prince,"  said  the  Widow,  in  a  tone  of  inexpressible  rage, — 
"  Prince, — you  may  be  forgiven  this,  but  not  from  me  !  I  never 
dreamt  that  the  heart  of  man  could  be  so  deceitful, — but  you  are 
unworthy  of  a  thought.  You  are  an  impostor  !  My  husband  in 
the  dress  of  a  barbarian  is  a  prince;  you  in  the  dress  of  a  prince 
are  a  barbarian.    In  this  world  you  see  me  no  more  !" 

With  these  words  she  turned  proudly  away  from  him,  and 
going  up  to  the  Mameluke,  they  left  the  hall  in  deep  and  ear- 
nest conversation.  Philip  laughed  quietly,  and  said  to  himself, 
"  My  substitute,  the  watchman,  must  look  to  it,  for  I  do  not  play 
my  part  badly  ;  I  only  hope  when  he  returns  he  will  proceed  as 
I  have  begun." 

He  went  up  to  the  dancers,  and  was  delighted  to  see  the  beau- 
tiful Carmelite  standing  up  in  a  set  with  the  overjoyed  Brahmin. 
No  sooner  did  the  latter  perceive  him,  than  he  kissed  his  hand 
to  him,  and  in  dumb  show  gave  him  to  understand  in  what  a 
blessed  state  he  was.  Philip  thought  "  'Tis  a  pity  I  am  not  to  be 
prince  all  my  life-time.  The  people  would  be  satisfied  then  : 
to  be  a  prince  is  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world.  He  can  do 
more  with  a  single  word  than  a  lawyer  with  a  four  hours' 
speech.  Yes  !  if  I  were  a  prince,  my  beautiful  Rose  would  be 
— lost  to  me  for  ever.  No  !  I  would  not  be  a  Prince."  He  now 
looked  at  the  clock,  and  saw  'twas  half  past  eleven.  The  Ma- 
meluke hurried  up  to  him  and  gave  him  a  paper.  "  Prince," 
he  exclaimed,  "  I  could  fall  at  your  feet  and  thank  you  in  the 


NEW  YEAR'S  EVE. 


183 


very  dust ;  I  am  reconciled  to  my  wife.  You  have  broken  her 
heart ;  but  it  is  better  that  it  should  be  so.  We  leave  for  Poland 
this  very  night,  and  there  we  shall  fix  our  home.  Farewell  ! 
I  shall  be  ready  whenever  your  Royal  Highness  requires  me,  to 
pour  out  my  last  drop  of  blood  in  your  service.  My  gratitude  is 
eternal.    Farewell  !" 

"  Stay  !"  said  Philip  to  the  Marshal,  who  was  hurrying  away, 
"  what  am  I  to  do  with  this  paper  ?" 

"  Oh,  that, — 'tis  the  amount  of  my  loss  to  your  Highness  last 
week  at  hazard.  I  had  nearly  forgotten  it ;  but  before  my  de- 
parture, I  must  clear  my  debts.  I  have  endorsed  it  on  the  back." 
With  these  words  the  Marshal  disappeared. 


V. 

Philip  opened  the  paper,  and  read  in  it  an  order  for  five  thou- 
sand dollars.  He  put  it  in  his  pocket,  and  thought,  "  Well,  it's 
a  pity  that  I'm  not  a  prince."    Some  one  whispered  in  his  ear, 

"  Your  Royal  Highness,  we  are  both  discovered  ;  I  shall  blow 
my  brains  out." 

Philip  turned  round  in  amazement,  and  saw  a  negro  at  his 
side. 

"  What  do  you  want,  mask  V  he  asked,  in  an  unconcerned 
tone. 

"  I  am  Colonel  Kalt,"  whispered  the  negro.  "  The  Marshal's 
wife  has  been  chattering  to  Duke  Herman,  and  he  has  been 
breathing  fire  and  fury  against  us  both." 

"  He  is  quite  welcome,"  answered  Philip. 

"  But  the  King  will  hear  it  all,"  sighed  the  negro.  "  This 
very  night  I  may  be  arrested  and  carried  to  a  dungeon  ;  I'll 
sooner  hang  myself." 

"No  need  of  that,"  said  Philip. 

"  What !  am  I  to  be  made  infamous  for  my  whole  life  ?  I  am 
lost,  I  tell  you.  The  Duke  will  demand  entire  satisfaction. 
His  back  is  black  and  blue  yet  with  the  marks  of  the  cudgelling 


384 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


]  gave  him.  I  am  lost,  and  the  baker's  daughter  too!  I'll 
jump  from  the  bridge  and  drown  myself  at  once!" 

••  Qod  forbid  ("  answered  Philip;  "what  have  you  and  the 
baker's  daughter  to  do  with  it  ?" 

"  Your  Royal  Highness  banters  me,  and  I  am  in  despair  ! — I 
humbly  beseech  you  to  give  me  two  minutes'  private  conversa- 
tion." 

Philip  followed  the  negro  into  a  small  boudoir  dimly  lighted 
up  with  a  few  candles.  The  negro  threw  himself  on  a  sofa,  quite 
overcome,  and  groaned  aloud.  Philip  found  some  sandwiches 
and  wine  on  the  table,  and  helped  himself  with  great  relish. 

"  I  wonder  your  Royal  Highness  can  be  so  cool  on  hearing 
this  cursed  story.  If  that  rascally  Salmoni  was  here  who  acted 
the  conjuror,  he  might  save  us  by  some  contrivance,  for  the 
fellow  was  a  bunch  of  tricks.  As  it  is,  he  has  slipped  out  of  the 
scrape." 

"  So  much  the  better,"  interrupted  Philip,  replenishing  his 
glass  ;  "  since  he  has  got  out  of  the  way,  we  can  throw  all  the 
blame  on  his  shoulders." 

"  How  can  we  do  that?  The  Duke,  I  tell  you,  knows  that 
you,  and  I,  and  the  Marshal's  wife,  and  the  baker's  daughter, 
were  all  in  the  plot  together,  to  take  advantage  of  his  supersti- 
tion. He  knows  that  it  was  you  that  engaged  Salmoni  to  play 
the  conjuror  ;  that  it  was  I  that  instructed  the  baker's  daughter 
(with  whom  he  is  in  love)  how  to  inveigle  him  into  the  snare  ; 
that  it  was  I  that  enacted  the  ghost,  that  knocked  him  down,  and 
cudgelled  him  till  he  roared  again.  If  I  had  only  not  carried 
the  joke  too  far,  but  I  wished  to  cool  his  love  a  little  for  my 
sweetheart.    'Twas  a  devilish  business.    I'll  take  poison." 

"  Rather  swallow  a  glass  of  wine — 'tis  delicious,"  said  Philip, 
taking  another  tart  at  the  same  time.  "  For  to  tell  you  the 
truth,  my  friend,  I  think  you  are  rather  a  white-livered  sort  of 
rogue  for  a  colonel,  to  think  of  hanging,  drowning,  shooting,  and 
poisoning  yourself  about  such  a  ridiculous  story  as  that.  One 
of  these  modes  would  be  too  much,  but  as  to  all  the  four — non- 
sense. I  tell  you  that  at  this  moment  I  don't  know  what  to 
make  out  of  your  tale." 

"  Your  Royal  Highness  have  pity  on  me,  my  brain  is  turned. 


NEW  YEAR'S  EVE. 


185 


The  Duke's  page,  an  old  friend  of  mine,  has  told  me  this  very 
moment,  that  the  Marshal's  wife,  inspired  by  the  devil,  went  up 
to  the  Duke,  and  told  him  that  the  trick  played  on  him  at  the 
baker's  house,  was  planned  by  Prince  Julian,  who  opposed  his 
marriage  with  his  sister  ;  that  the  spirit  he  saw  was  myself,  sent 
by  the  Princess  to  be  a  witness  of  his  superstition  ;  that  your 
Highness  was  a  witness  of  his  descent  into  the  pit  after  hidden 
gold,  and  of  his  promise  to  make  the  baker's  daughter  his  mis- 
tress,  and  also  to  make  her  one  of  the  nobility  immediately  after 
his  marriage  with  the  Princess.  '  Do  not  hope  to  gain  the  Prin- 
cess. It  is  useless  for  you  to  try !'  were  the  last  words  of  the 
Marshal's  wife  to  the  Duke." 

"  And  a  pretty  story  it  is,"  muttered  Philip  ;  "  why,  behavior 
like  that  would  be  a  disgrace  to  the  meanest  of  the  people.  I 
declare  there  is  no  end  to  these  deviltries." 

"Yes  indeed.  'Tis  impossible  to  behave  more  meanly  than 
the  Marshal's  lady.  The  woman  must  be  a  fury.  My  gra- 
cious lord,  save  me  from  destruction." 

"  Where  is  the  Duke  ?"  asked  Philip. 

"  The  page  told  me  he  started  up  on  hearing  the  story,  and 
said,  '  I  will  go  to  the  King.'  And  if  he  tells  the  story  to  the 
King  in  his  own  way — " 

"  Is  the  King  here,  then  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  he  is  at  play  in  the  next  room  with  the  Archbishop 
and  the  Minister  of  Police." 

Philip  walked  with  long  steps  through  the  boudoir.  The  case 
required  consideration. 

"  Your  Royal  Highness,"  said  the  negro,  "  protect  me.  Your 
own  honor  is  at  stake.  You  can  easily  make  all  straight ;  other- 
wise, I  am  ready  at  the  first  intimation  of  danger,  to  fly  across 
the  border.  I  will  pack  up,  and  to-morrow  I  shall  expect  your 
last  commands  as  to  my  future  behavior." 

With  these  words  the  negro  took  his  leave. 


186 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES 


VI. 

"  It  is  high  time  I  were  a  watchman  again,"  thought  Philip. 
"  I  am  getting  both  myself  and  my  substitute  into  scrapes  he  will 
find  it  hard  to  get  out  of — and  this  makes  the  difference  between  a 
peasant  and  a  prince.  One  is  no  better  off  than  the  other.  Good 
heavens  !  what  stupid  things  these  court  lords  are  doing  which 
we  do  not  dream  of  with  our  lanthorns  and  staff  in  hand,  or 
when  at  the  spade  !  We  think  they  lead  the  lives  of  angels 
without  sin  or  care.  Pretty  piece  of  business  !  Within  a  quar- 
ter of  an  hour  I  have  heard  of  more  rascally  tricks  than  I  ever 
played  in  my  whole  life.  And" — but  his  reverie  was  interrupt- 
ed by  a  whisper. 

"  So  lonely,  Prince  !  I  consider  myself  happy  in  having  a 
minute's  conversation  with  your  Royal  Highness." 

Philip  looked  at  the  speaker ;  and  he  was  a  Miner,  covered 
over  with  gold  and  jewels. 

"But  one  instant,"  said  the  mask.  "  The  business  is  press- 
ing, and  deeply  concerns  you." 

"  Who  are  you  ?"  inquired  Philip. 

"  Count  Bodenlos,  the  Minister  of  Finance,  at  your  Highness's 
service,"  answered  the  Miner,  and  showed  his  face,  which  looked 
as  if  it  were  a  second  mask  with  its  little  eyes  and  copper-color- 
ed nose. 

"  Well,  then,  my  lord,  what  are  your  commands  V* 

"  May  I  speak  openly  ?  I  waited  on  your  Royal  Highness 
thrice,  and  was  never  admitted  to  the  honor  of  an  audience  ; 
and  yet — Heaven  is  my  witness — no  man  in  all  this  court  has  a 
deeper  interest  in  your  Royal  Highness  than  I  have." 

"  I  am  greatly  obliged  to  you,"  replied  Philip  ;  "  what  is  your 
business  just  now  ?    But  be  quick." 

"  May  I  venture  to  speak  of  the  house  of  Abraham  Levi  ?" 

"  As  much  as  you  like." 

"  They  have  applied  to  me  about  the  fifty  thousand  dollars 
which  you  owe  them,  and  threaten  to  apply  to  the  King.  And 
you  remember  your  promise  to  his  Majesty  when  last  he  paid 
your  debts.-' 


NEW  YEAR'S  EVE. 


187 


"Can't  the  people  wait?"  asked  Philip. 

"  No  more  than  the  Brothers,  goldsmiths,  who  demand  their 
seventy-five  thousand  dollars." 

"  It  is  all  one  to  me.  If  the  people  won't  wait  for  their  mo- 
ney, I  must"  

"  No  hasty  resolution,  my  gracious  Lord  !  I  have  it  in  my 
power  to  make  everything  comfortable,  if  "  

"Well,  if  what?" 

"  If  you  will  honor  me  by  listening  to  me  one  moment.  I 
nope  to  have  no  difficulty  in  redeeming  all  your  debts.  The  house 
of  Abraham  Levi  has  bought  up  immense  quantities  of  corn,  so 
that  the  price  is  very  much  raised.  A  decree  against  importation 
will  raise  it  three  or  four  per  cent,  higher.  By  giving  Abraham 
Levi  the  monopoly,  the  business  will  be  arranged.  The  house 
erases  your  debt,  and  pays  off  your  seventy-five  thousand  dollars 
to  the  goldsmiths,  and  I  give  you  over  the  receipts.  But  everything 
depends  on  my  continuing  for  another  year  at  the  head  of  the 
Finance.  If  Baron  Griefensack  succeeds  in  ejecting  me  from 
the  Ministry,  I  shall  be  unable  to  serve  your  Royal  Highness 
as  I  could  wish.  If  your  Highness  will  leave  the  party  of 
Griefensack,  our  point  is  gained.  For  me,  it  is  a  matter  of  per- 
fect indifference  whether  I  remain  in  office  or  not.  I  sigh  for 
repose.  But  for  your  Royal  Highness,  it  is  a  matter  of  great 
moment.   If  I  have  not  the  mixing  of  the  pack,  I  lose  the  game." 

Philip  for  some  time  did  not  know  what  answer  to  make.  At 
last,  while  the  Finance  Minister,  in  expectation  of  his  reply,  took 
a  pinch  out  of  his  snuff-box  set  with  jewels,  Philip  said, 

"  If  I  rightly  understand  you,  Sir  Count,  you  would  starve  the 
country  a  little  in  order  to  pay  my  debts.  Consider,  sir,  what 
misery  you  will  cause.    And  will  the  King  consent  to  it  ?" 

"  If  I  remain  in  office,  I  will  answer  for  that,  my  gracious  Lord  ! 
When  the  price  of  corn  rises,  the  King  will,  of  course,  think  of 
permitting  importation,  and  prevent  exportation  by  levying  heavy 
imposts.  The  permission  to  do  so  is  given  to  the  house  of  Abra- 
ham Levi,  and  they  export  as  much  as  they  choose.  But  as  I 
said  before,  if  Griefensack  gets  the  helm  nothing  can  be  done. 
For  the  first  year  he  would  be  obliged  to  attend  strictly  to  his  du- 
ty, in  order  to  be  able  afterwards  to  feather  his  nest  at  the  ex- 


18S 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


pense  of  the  country.  He  must  first  make  sure  of  his  ground. 
He  is  dreadfully  grasping  I" 

"  A  pretty  project,"  answered  Philip  ;  "  and  how  long  do  you 
think  a  finance  minister  must  be  in  office  before  he  can  lay  his 
shears  on  the  flock  to  get  wool  enough  for  himself  and  me  ?" 

"  O,  if  he  has  his  wits  about  him,  he  may  manage  it  in  a  year." 

"  Then  the  King  ought  to  be  counselled  to  change  his  finance 
minister  every  twelve  months,  if  he  wishes  to  be  faithfully  and 
honorably  served." 

"  I  hope,  your  Royal  Highness,  that  since  I  have  had  the  Ex- 
chequer, the  King  and  court  have  been  faithfully  served." 

"  I  believe  you,  Count,  and  the  poor  people  believe  you  still 
more.  Already  they  scarcely  know  how  to  pay  their  rates  and 
taxes.  You  should  treat  us  with  a  little  more  consideration, 
Count." 

"  Us  ! — don't  I  do  everything  for  the  Court  ?" 

"  No  !  I  mean  the  people.  You  should  have  a  little  more  con- 
sideration for  them." 

"  I  appreciate  what  your  Royal  Highness  says  ;  but  I  serve  the 
King  and  the  court,  the  people  are  not  to  be  considered.  The 
country  is  his  private  property,  and  the  people  are  only  useful  to 
him  as  increasing  the  value  of  his  land.  But  this  is  no  time  to 
discuss  the  old  story  about  the  interests  of  the  people.  I  beg  your 
Royal  Highness's  answer  to  my  propositions.  Shall  I  have  the 
honor  to  discharge  your  debts  on  the  above  specified  conditions  ?" 

"  Answer, — no — never,  never  !  at  the  expense  of  hundreds  and 
thousands  of  starving  families." 

"  But,  your  Royal  Highness,  if  in  addition  to  the  clearance  of 
your  debts,  I  make  the  house  of  Abraham  Levi  present  you  with 
fifty  thousand  dollars  in  hard  cash  ?  I  think  it  may  afford  you 
that  sum.    The  house  will  gain  so  much  by  the  operation,  that — 

"  Perhaps  it  may  be  able  to  give  you  also  a  mark  of  its  regard." 

"  Your  Highness  is  pleased  to  jest  with  me.  I  gain  nothing 
by  the  affair.  My  whole  object  is  to  obtain  the  protection  of  your 
Royal  Highness." 

"  You  are  very  polite  !" 

"  I  may  hope  then,  Prince  ?" 

"Count,  I  will  do  my  duty ;  do  you  yours." 


NEW  YEAR'S  EVE. 


189 


"  My  duty  is  to  be  of  service  to  you.  To-morrow  I  shall  send 
for  Abraham,  and  conclude  the  arrangement  with  him.  I  shall 
have  the  honor  to  present  your  Royal  Highness  with  the  receipt 
for  all  your  debts,  besides  the  gift  of  fifty  thousand  dollars." 

"  Go,  I  want  to  hear  no  more  of  it." 

"  And  your  Royal  Highness  will  honor  me  with  your  favor  ? 
For  unless  I  am  in  the  Ministry,  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  deal 
with  Abraham  Levi  so  as" — 

"  I  wish  to  Heaven  you  and  your  ministry  and  Abraham  Levi 
were  all  three  on  the  Blocksberg  !  I  tell  you  what,  unless  you 
lower  the  price  of  corn,  and  take  away  the  monopoly  from  that 
infernal  Jew,  I'll  go  this  moment  and  reveal  your  villany  to  the 
King,  and  get  you  and  Abraham  Levi  banished  from  the  country. 
See  to  it — I'll  keep  my  word  !"  Philip  turned  away  in  a  rage, 
and  proceeded  into  the  dancing-room,  leaving  the  Minister  of  Fi- 
nance petrified  with  amazement. 


VII. 

"  When  does  your  Royal  Highness  require  the  carriage  ?" 
whispered  a  stout  little  Dutch  merchant  in  a  bobbed  wig. 
"Not  at  all,"  answered  Philip. 

"  'Tis  after  half-past  eleven,  and  the  beautiful  singer  expects 
you.    She  will  tire  of  waiting." 

"  Let  her  sing  something  to  cheer  her." 

"  How,  Prince  ?  Have  you  changed  your  mind  ?  Would 
you  leave  the  captivating  Rollina  in  the  lurch,  and  throw  away 
the  golden  opportunity  you  have  been  sighing  for  two  months  ? 
The  letter  you  sent  to-day,  inclosing  the  diamond  watch,  did 
wonders.  The  proud  but  fragile  beauty  surrenders.  This 
morning  you  were  in  raptures,  and  now  you  are  as  cold  as  ice  ! 
What  is  the  cause  of  the  change  V 

"  That  is  my  business,  not  yours,"  said  Philip. 

"  I  had  your  orders  to  join  you  at  half-past  eleven.  Perhaps 
you  have  other  engagements  ?" 

"  Perhaps." 


190 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


"  A  petit  souper  with  the  Countess  Born  ?  She  is  not  present 
here  ;  at  least  among  all  the  masks  I  can't  trace  her  out.  I 
should  know  her  among  a  thousand  by  that  graceful  walk  and 
her  peculiar  way  of  carrying  her  little  head — eh,  Prince  ?" 

"  Well,  but  if  it  were  so,  there  would  be  no  necessity  for 
making  you  my  confident,  would  there  ?" 

"  I  will  take  the  hint,  and  be  silent.  But  won't  you  at  any 
rate  send  to  the  Signora  Rollina  to  let  her  know  you  are  not 
coming  ?" 

"  If  I  have  sighed  for  her  for  two  months,  she  had  better  sigh 
a  month  or  two  for  me.    I  shan't  go  near  her." 

"  So  that  beautiful  necklace  which  you  sent  her  for  a  new 
year's  present  was  all  for  nothing  ?" 

"As  far  as  I  am  concerned." 

"  Will  you  break  with  her  entirely  ?" 

"  There  is  nothing  between  us  to  break,  that  I  know  of." 

"  Well,  then,  since  you  speak  so  plainly,  I  may  tell  you  some- 
thing which  you  perhaps  know  already.  Your  love  to  the 
Signora  has  hitherto  kept  me  silent ;  but  now  that  you  have 
altered  your  mind  about  her,  I  can  no  longer  keep  the  secret 
from  you.    You  are  deceived." 

"  By  whom  ?" 

"  By  the  artful  singer.    She  would  divide  her  favors  between 
your  Royal  Highness  and  a  Jew." 
"A  Jew?" 

"  Yes  !  with  the  son  of  Abraham  Levi." 
"  Is  that  rascal  everywhere  ?" 

"  So  your  Highness  did  not  know  it ;  but  I  am  telling  you  the 
exact  truth  ;  if  it  were  not  for  your  Royal  Highness,  she  would 
be  his  mistress.    I  am  only  sorry  you  gave  her  that  watch." 

"  I  don't  regret  it  at  all." 

"  The  jade  deserves  to  be  whipped." 

"  Few  people  meet  their  deserts,"  answered  Philip. 

"  Too  true,  too  true,  your  Royal  Highness.  For  instance, 
I  have  discovered  a  girl — oh  Prince,  there  is  not  such  another 
in  this  city  or  in  the  whole  world  !  Few  have  seen  this  angel — 
Pooh  !  Rosalina  is  nothing  to  her.  Listen — a  girl  tall  and 
slender  as  a  palm-tree — with  a  complexion  like  the  red  glow  of 


NEW  YEAR'S  EVE. 


191 


evening  upon  snow — eyes  like  sunbeams — rich  golden  tresses — 
in  short,  the  most  beautiful  creature  I  ever  beheld — a  Venus — 
a  goddess  in  rustic  attire.  Your  Highness,  we  must  give  her 
chase." 

"  A  peasant  girl  ?" — 

"  A  mere  rustic  ;  but  then  you  must  see  hei  yourself,  and 
you  will  love  her.  But  my  descriptions  are  nothing.  Imagine 
the  embodiment  of  all  that  you  can  conceive  most  charming — add 
to  that,  artlessness,  grace,  and  innocence.  But  the  difficulty  is 
to  catch  sight  of  her.  She  seldom  leaves  her  mother.  I  know 
her  seat  in  church,  and  have  watched  her  for  many  Sundays 
past,  as  she  walked  with  her  mother  to  the  Elm-Gate.  I  have 
ascertained  that  a  handsome  young  fellow,  a  gardener,  is  making 
court  to  her.  He  can't  marry  her,  for  he  is  a  poor  devil,  and 
she  has  nothing.    The  mother  is  the  widow  of  a  poor  weaver." 

"  And  the  mother's  name  is  V 

"  Widow  Bittsier,  in  Milk-street ;  and  the  daughter,  fairest  of 
flowers,  is  in  fact  called  Rose." 

Philip's  blood  boiled  at  the  sound  of  the  beloved  name.  His  first 
inclination  was  to  knock  the  communicative  Dutchman  down. 
He  restrained  himself,  however,  and  only  asked, 

"Are  you  the  devil  himself?" 

"  'Tis  good  news,  is  it  not  ?  I  have  taken  some  steps  in  the 
matter  already,  but  you  must  see  her  first.  But  perhaps  such  a 
pearl  has  not  altogether  escaped  your  keen  observation  ?  Do 
you  know  her  Vs 

"Intimately." 

"  So  much  the  better.  Have  I  been  too  lavish  of  my  praises  ? 
\  ou  confess  their  truth  ?  She  shan't  escape  us.  We  must  go 
together  to  the  widow;  you  must  play  the  philanthropist. 
You  have  heard  of  the  widow's  poverty,  and  must  insist  on 
relieving  it.  You  take  an  interest  in  the  good  woman  ;  enter 
into  her  misfortunes  ;  leave  a  small  present  at  each  visit,  and  by 
this  means  become  acquainted  with  Rose.  The  rest  follows  of 
course.  The  gardener  can  be  easily  got  out  of  the  way,  or 
perhaps  a  dozen  or  two  dollars  slipt  quietly  into  his  hand 
may" — 

Philip's  rage  broke  forth. 


192 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


"  I'll  throttle  you"  

"  If  the  gardener  makes  a  fuss  ?"  interposed  the  Dutchman. 
"  Leave  me  to  settle  this  matter.  I'll  get  him  kidnapped,  and  sent 
to  the  army  to  fight  for  his  country.  In  the  meantime  you  get 
possession  of  the  field  j  for  the  girl  has  a  peasant's  attachment  for 
the  fellow,  and  it  will  not  be  easy  to  get  the  nonsense  out  of  her 
head,  which  she  has  been  taught  by  the  canaille.  But  I  will  give 
her  some  lessons,  and  then" — 

"  I'll  break  your  neck." 

"Your  Highness  is  too  good.  But  if  your  Highness  would 
use  your  interest  with  the  King  to  procure  me  the  Chamberlain's 
key"  

"  I  wish  I  could  procure  you"  

"  Oh,  don't  flatter  me,  your  Highness.  Had  I  only  known 
you  thought  so  much  of  her  beauty,  she  would  have  been  yours 
long  ago." 

"  Not  a  word  more,"  cried  the  enraged  Philip  in  a  smothered 
voice  ;  for  he  dared  not  speak  aloud,  he  was  so  surrounded  by 
maskers,  who  were  listening,  dancing,  talking,  as  they  passed 
him,  and  he  might  have  betrayed  himself :  "  not  a  word  more  !" 

"  No,  there  will  be  more  than  words.  Deeds  shall  show  my 
sincerity.  You  may  advance.  You  are  wont  to  conquer.  The 
out-posts  will  be  easily  taken.  The  gardener  I  will  manage,  and 
the  mother  will  range  herself  under  your  gilded  banners.  Then 
the  fortress  will  be  won  !" 

"  Sir,  if  you  venture,"  said  Philip,  who  now  could  hardly 
contain  himself.  It  was  with  great  difficulty  he  refrained  from 
open  violence,  and  he  clutched  the  arm  of  the  Dutchman  with 
the  force  of  a  vice. 

"  Your  Highness,  for  Heaven's  sake,  moderate  your  joy.  I 
shall  scream — you  are  mashing  my  arm  !" 

"  If  you  venture  to  go  near  that  innocent  girl,  I  will  demolish 
every  bone  in  your  body." 

"  Good,  good,"  screamed  the  Dutchman,  in  intense  pain  ; 
"  only  let  go  my  arm." 

"  If  I  find  you  anywhere  near  Milk-street,  I'll  dash  your 
miserable  brains  out.    So  look  to  it." 

The  Dutchman  seemed  almost  stupified  ;  trembling  he  said, 


NEW  YEAR'S  EVE 


193 


"  May  it  please  your  Highness,  I  could  not  imagine  you 
really  loved  the  girl  as  it  seems  you  do." 

"  I  love  her !    I  will  own  it  before  the  whole  world  !' 
"  And  are  loved  in  return  ?" 

"  That's  none  of  your  business.  Never  mention  her  name  to 
me  again.  Do  not  even  think  of  her,  it  would  be  a  stain  upon 
her  purity.    Now  you  know  what  I  think.    Be  off!" 

Philip  twirled  the  unfortunate  Dutchman  round  as  he  let  go 
his  arm,  and  that  worthy  gentleman  slunk  out  of  the  hall. 


VIII. 

In  the  meantime  Philip's  substitute  supported  his  character  of 
watchman  on  the  snow-covered  streets.  It  is  scarcely  necessary 
to  say,  that  this  was  none  other  than  Prince  JuUan,  who  had 
taken  a  notion  to  join  the  watch — his  head  being  crazed  by  the 
fire  of  the  sweet  wine.  He  attended  to  the  directions  left  by 
Philip,  and  went  his  rounds,  and  called  the  hour  with  great 
decorum,  except  that,  instead  of  the  usual  watchman's  verses, 
he  favored  the  public  with  rhymes  of  his  own.  He  was  cogi- 
tating a  new  stanza,  when  the  door  of  a  house  beside  him  opened, 
and  a  well  wrapped  up  girl  beckoned  to  him,  and  ran  into  the 
shadow  of  the  house. 

The  Prince  left  his  stanza  half  finished,  and  followed  the 
apparition.  A  soft  hand  grasped  his  in  the  darkness,  and  a 
voice  whispered — 

"  Good  evening,  dear  Philip.  Speak  low,  that  nobody  may 
hear  us.  I  have  only  got  away  from  the  company  for  one 
moment,  to  speak  to  you  as  you  passed.  Are  you  happy  to 
see  me  ?" 

"  Blest  as  a  god,  my  angel ; — who  could  be  otherwise  than 
happy  by  thy  side  ?" 

"I've  some  good  news  for  you,  Philip.  You  must  sup  at  our 
house  to-morrow  evening.  My  mother  has  allowed  me  to  ask 
you.    You'll  come  V 

"  For  the  whole  evening,  and  as  many  more  as  you  wish. 
14 


194 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


Would  we  might  be  together  till  the  end  of  the  world  !  'Twould 
be  a  life  fit  for  gods !" 

"  Listen,  Philip  ;  in  half  an  hour  I  shall  be  at  St.  Gregory's. 
I  shall  expect  you  there.  You  won't  fail  me  ?  Don't  keep  me 
waiting  long — we  shall  have  a  walk  together.  Go  now — we 
may  be  discovered."  She  tried  to  go,  but  Julian  held  her  back 
and  threw  his  arms  round  her. 

"  What,  wilt  thou  leave  me  so  coldly?"  he  said,  and  tried  to 
press  a  kiss  upon  her  lips. 

Rose  did  not  know  what  to  think  of  this  boldness,  for  Philip 
had  always  been  modest,  and  never  dared  more  than  kiss  her 
hand,  except  once,  when  her  mother  had  forbidden  their  meeting 
again.  They  had  then  exchanged  their  first  kiss  in  great  sor- 
row and  in  great  love,  but  never  since  then.  She  struggled  to 
free  herself,  but  Julian  held  her  firm,  till  at  last  she  had  to  buy 
her  liberty  by  submitting  to  the  kiss,  and  begged  him  to  go. 
But  Julian  seemed  not  at  all  inclined  to  move. 

"  What !  go  ?  I'm  not  such  a  fool  as  that  comes  to  !  You 
think  I  love  my  horn  better  than  you  ?    No,  indeed !" 

"  But  then  it  isn't  right,  Philip." 

"  Not  right  ?  why  not,  my  beauty  ?  there  is  nothing  against 
kissing  in  the  ten  commandments." 

"  Why,  if  we  could  marry,  perhaps  you  might — but  you  know 
very  well  we  can't  marry,  and"  

"  Not  marry  !  why  not  ?  You  can  marry  me  any  day  you 
like." 

"  Philip ! — why  will  you  talk  such  folly  ?  You  know  we 
must  not  think  of  such  a  thing." 

"  But  /  think  very  seriously  about  it — if  you  would  consent." 

"You  are  unkind  to  speak  thus.  Ah,  Philip,  I  had  a  dream 
last  night." 

"  A  dream — what  was  it  ?" 

"  You  had  won  a  prize  in  the  lottery  ;  we  were  both  so  happy  ! 
you  had  bought  a  beautiful  garden,  handsomer  than  any  in  the 
city.  It  was  a  little  Paradise  of  flowers — and  there  were  large 
beds  of  vegetables,  and  the  trees  were  laden  with  fruit.  And  when 
I  awoke,  Philip,  I  felt  so  wretched — I  wished  I  had  not  dreamed 
such  a  happy  dream.    You've  nothing  in  the  lottery,  Philip, 


NEW  YEAR'S  EVE. 


195 


have  you?  Have  you  really  won  anything?  The  drawing 
took  place  to-day." 

"  How  much  must  I  have  gained  to  win  you  too  ?" 

"  Ah,  Philip,  if  you  had  only  gained  a  thousand  dollars,  you 
might  buy  such  a  pretty  garden  !" 

"  A  thousand  dollars  !    And  what  if  it  were  more  V 

"  Ah,  Philip — what  ?  is  it  true  ?  is  it  really  !  Don't  deceive 
me  !  'twill  be  worse  than  the  dream.  You  had  a  ticket !  and 
you've  won  ! — own  it !  own  it !" 

"  All  you  can  wish  for." 

Rose  flung  her  arms  around  his  neck  in  the  extremity  of  her 
joy,  and  kissed  him. 

"  More  than  the  thousand  dollars  ?  and  will  they  pay  you  the 
whole  ?" 

Her  kiss  made  the  Prince  forget  to  answer.  It  was  so  strange 
to  hold  a  pretty  form  in  his  arms,  receive  its  caresses,  and  to 
know  they  were  not  meant  for  him. 

"  Answer  me,  answer  me  !"  cried  Rose,  impatiently.  "  Will 
they  give  you  all  that  money  ?" 

"  They've  done  it  already — and  if  it  will  add  to  your  happi- 
ness, I  will  hand  it  to  you  this  moment." 

"  What !  have  you  got  it  with  you  ?" 

The  prince  took  out  his  purse,  which  he  had  filled  with  money 
in  expectation  of  some  play. 

"  Take  it  and  weigh  it,  my  girl,"  he  said,  placing  it  in  her 
hand  and  kissing  her  again.    "  This  then  makes  you  mine  !" 

"  Oh  not  this — nor  all  the  gold  in  the  world,  if  you  were  not 
my  own  dear  Philip  !" 

"  And  how  if  1  had  given  you  twice  as  much  as  all  this  mo- 
ney, and  yet  were  not  your  own  dear  Philip  ?" 

"  I  would  fling  the  purse  at  your  feet,  and  make  you  a  very 
polite  curtsey,"  said  Rose. 

A  door  now  opened  j  the  light  streamed  down  upon  the  steps,, 
and  the  laughing  voices  of  girls  were  heard.    Rose  whispered — 

"  In  half  an  hour,  at  St.  Gregory's,"  and  ran  up  the  steps,  leav- 
ing the  Prince  in  the  darkness.  Disconcerted  by  the  suddenness 
of  the  parting,  and  his  curiosity  excited  by  his  ignorance  of  the 
name  of  his  new  acquaintance,  and  not  even  having  had  a  full 


196 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


view  of  her  face,  he  consoled  himself  with  the  rendezvous  at  St. 
Gregory's  church-door.  This  he  resolved  to  keep,  though  it  was 
evident  that  all  the  tenderness  which  had  been  bestowed  on  him 
was  intended  for  his  friend  the  watchman. 


IX. 

The  interview  with  Rose,  or  the  coldness  of  the  night,  increased 
the  effect  of  the  wine  to  such  an  extent  that  the  mischievous  pro- 
pensities of  the  young  Prince  got  the  upper  hand  of  him.  Stand- 
ing amidst  a  crowd  of  people,  in  the  middle  of  the  street,  he 
blew  so  lustily  on  his  horn  that  the  women  screamed,  and  the 
men  gasped  with  fear.  He  called  the  hour,  and  then  shouted,  at 
the  top  of  his  lungs — 

The  bus'ness  of  our  lovely  state 
Is  stricken  by  the  hand  of  fate — 
Even  our  maids,  both  light  and  brown, 
Can  find  no  sale  in  all  the  town ; 
They  deck  themselves  with  all  their  arts, 
But  no  one  buys  their  worn-out  hearts. 

"  Shame !  shame  !"  cried  several  female  voices  from  the  win- 
dow at  the  end  of  this  complimentary  effusion,  which,  however, 
was  crowned  with  a  loud  laugh  from  the  men.  "  Bravo,  watch- 
man," cried  some  ;  "  encore  !  encore  !"  shouted  others.  "  How 
dare  you,  fellow,  insult  ladies  in  the  open  street  ?"  growled  a 
young  lieutenant,  who  had  a  very  pretty  girl  on  his  arm. 

"  Mr.  Lieutenant,"  answered  a  miller,  "  unfortunately  watch- 
men always  tell  the  truth,  and  the  lady  on  your  arm  is  a  proof 
of  it.  Ha  !  young  jade,  do  you  know  me  ?  do  you  know  who  I 
am  ?  Is  it  right  for  a  betrothed  bride  to  be  gadding  at  night 
about  the  streets  with  other  men  ?  To-morrow  your  mother  shall 
hear  of  this.    I'll  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  you  !" 

The  girl  hid  her  face,  and  nudged  the  young  officer  to  lead  hei 
away.  But  the  lieutenant,  like  a  brave  soldier,  scorned  to  re 
treat  from  the  miller,  and  determined  to  keep  the  field.  He  there 
fore  made  use  of  a  full  round  of  oaths,  which  were  returned  witl 


NEW  YEAR'S  EVE. 


197 


interest,  and  a  sabre  was  finally  resorted  to,  with  some  flourishes  ; 
but  two  Spanish  cudgels  were  threateningly  held  over  the  head 
of  the  lieutenant  by  a  couple  of  stout  townsmen,  while  one  of 
them,  who  was  a  broad-shouldered  beer-brewer,  cried — "  Don't 
make  any  more  fuss  about  the  piece  of  goods  beside  you — she 
ain't  worth  it.  The  miller's  a  good  fellow,  and  what  he  says  is 
true,  and  the  watchman's  right,  too.  A  plain  tradesman  can 
hardly  venture  to  marry  now.  All  the  women  wish  to  marry 
above  their  station.  Instead  of  darning  stockings,  they  read  ro- 
mances— instead  of  working  in  the  kitchen,  they  run  after  come- 
dies and  concerts.  Their  houses  are  dirty,  and  they  are  walk- 
ing out,  dressed  like  princesses :  all  they  bring  a  husband  as  a 
dowry,  are  handsome  dresses,  lace  ribbons,  intrigues,  romances, 
and  idleness  !  Sir,  I  speak  from  experience  ;  I  should  have  mar- 
ried long  since,  if  girls  were  not  spoilt." 

The  spectators  laughed  heartily,  and  the  lieutenant  slowly  put 
back  his  sword,  saying  peevishly,  "  It's  a  little  too  much  to  be 
obliged  to  hear  a  sermon  from  the  canaille." 

"  What !  Canaille  /"  cried  a  smith,  who  held  the  second  cud- 
gel. "  Do  you  call  those  canaille  who  feed  you  noble  idlers 
by  duties  and  taxes  ?  Your  licentiousness  is  the  cause  of  our 
domestic  discords,  and  noble  ladies  would  not  have  so  much  cause 
to  mourn  if  you  had  learned  both  to  pray  and  to  work." 

Several  young  officers  had  gathered  together  already,  and  so 
had  some  mechanics ;  and  the  boys,  in  the  meantime,  threw 
snow-balls  among  both  parties,  that  their  share  in  the  fun  might 
not  be  lost.  The  first  ball  hit  the  noble  lieutenant  on  the  nose, 
and  thinking  it  an  attack  from  the  canaille,  he  raised  his  sabre. 
The  fight  began. 

The  Prince,  who  had  laughed  amazingly  at  the  first  com- 
mencement of  the  uproar,  had  betaken  himself  to  another  region, 
and  felt  quite  unconcerned  as  to  the  result.  In  the  course  of  his 
wanderings,  he  came  to  the  palace  of  Count  Bodenlos,  the  Minis- 
ter of  Finance,  with  whom,  as  Philip  had  discovered  at  the  mas- 
querade, the  Prince  was  not  on  the  best  terms.  The  Countess 
had  a  large  party.  Julian  saw  the  lighted  windows,  and  still 
feeling  poetically  disposed,  he  planted  himself  opposite  the  bal- 
cony, and  blew  a  peal  on  his  horn.    Several  ladies  and  gentle^ 


IDS 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES 


men  opened  the  shutters,  because  they  had  nothing  better  to  do, 
and  listened  to  what  he  should  say. 

"  Watchman,"  cried  one  of  them,  "  sing  us  a  New  Year's  " 

greeting  !" 

This  invitation  brought  a  fresh  accession  of  the  Countess'a 
party  to  the  windows.  Julian  called  the  hour  in  the  usual  man- 
ner, and  sang,  loud  enough  to  be  distinctly  heard  inside — 

Ye  who  groan  with  heavy  debts, 
And  swift  approaching  failure  frets, 
Pray  the  Lord  that  he  this  hour 
May  raise  you  to  some  place  of  power ; 
And  while  the  nation  wants  and  suffers, 
Fill  your  own  from  the  people's  coffers. 

"  Outrageous  !"  screamed  the  lady  of  the  minister — "who  is 
the  insolent  wretch  that  dares  such  an  insult  ?" 

"  Pleashe  your  exshellenshy,"  answered  Julian,  imitating  the 
Jewish  dialect  in  voice  and  manner,  "  I  vash  only  intendsh  to 
shing  you  a  pretty  shong.  I  am  de  Shew  Abraham  Levi,  veil 
known  at  dish  court.    Your  ladyship  knowsh  me  ver'  well." 

"  How  dare  you  tell  such  a  lie,  you  villain  V  exclaimed  a 
voice,  trembling  with  rage,  at  one  of  the  windows — "  how  dare 
you  say  you  are  Abraham  Levi!  I  am  Abraham  Levi!  You 
are  a  cheat !" 

"  Call  the  police  !"  cried  the  Countess  !  "  Have  that  man  ar- 
rested !" 

At  these  words  the  party  confusedly  withdrew  from  the  win- 
dows. Nor  did  the  Prince  remain  where  he  was,  but  quickly 
effected  his  escape  through  a  cross  street.  A  crowd  of  servants 
rushed  out  of  the  palace,  led  by  the  Secretaries  of  the  Finance, 
and  commenced  a  search  for  the  offender.  "  We  have  hirn  !" 
cried  some,  as  the  rest  eagerly  approached.  It  was  in  fact  the 
real  guardian  of  the  night,  who  was  carefully  perambulating  his 
beat,  in  innocent  unconsciousness  of  any  offence.  In  spite  of  all 
he  could  say,  he  was  disarmed  and  carried  off  to  the  watch-house, 
and  charged  with  causing  a  disturbance  by  singing  libellous 
songs.  The  officer  of  the  police  shook  his  head  at  the  unac- 
countable event,  and  said — "  We  have  already  one  watchman  m 
custody,  whose  verses  about  some  girl  caused  a  very  serious 
affray  between  the  town's- people  and  the  garrison." 


NEW  YEAR'S  EVE. 


199 


The  prisoner  would  confess  to  nothing,  but  swore  prodigiously 
at  the  tipsy  young  people  who  had  disturbed  him  in  the  fulfil- 
ment of  his  duty.  One  of  the  secretaries  of  the  Finance  repeated 
the  whole  verse  to  him.  The  soldiers  standing  about  laughed 
aloud,  but  the  ancient  watchman  swore  with  tears  in  his  eyes 
that  he  had  never  thought  of  such  a  thing.  While  the  examin- 
ation was  going  on,  and  one  of  the  secretaries  of  the  Finance 
Minister  began  to  be  doubtful  whether  the  poor  watchman  was 
really  in  fault  or  not,  an  uproar  was  heard  outside,  and  loud 
cries  of,  "  Watch,  Watch  !" 

The  guard  rushed  out,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  Field-Mar- 
shal entered  the  office,  accompanied  by  the  captain  of  the 
guards  on  duty.  "  Have  that  scoundrel  locked  up  tight,"  said  the 
Marshal,  pointing  behind  him — and  two  soldiers  brought  in  a 
watchman,  whom  they  held  close  prisoner,  and  whom  they  had 
disarmed  of  his  staff  and  horn. 

"  Are  the  watchmen  gone  all  mad  to-night  V  exclaimed  the 
chief  of  police. 

"  I'll  have  the  rascal  punished  for  his  infamous  verses,"  said 
the  Field  Marshal  angrily. 

"  Your  excellency,"  exclaimed  the  trembling  watchman, 
as  true  as  I  live,  I  never  made  a  verse  in  my  born  days." 

"Silence,  knave,"  roared  the  Marshal.  "I'll  have  you 
hanged  for  them  !  And  if  you  contradict  me  again,  I'll  cut  you 
in  two  on  the  spot." 

The  police  officer  respectfully  observed  to  the  Field-Marshal 
that  there  must  be  some  poetical  epidemic  among  the  watch- 
men, for  three  had  been  brought  before  him  within  the  last 
quarter  of  an  hour,  accused  of  the  same  offence. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  the  Marshal  to  the  officers  who  had  accom- 
panied him,  "  since  the  scoundrel  refuses  to  confess,  it  will  be 
necessary  to  take  down  from  your  remembrance,  the  words  of 
his  atrocious  libel.  Let  them  be  written  down  while  you  still 
recollect  them.    Come,  who  can  say  them  ?" 

The  officer  of  police  wrote  to  the  dictation  of  the  gentlemen 
who  remembered  the  whole  verses  between  them  :— 
"  On  empty  head  a  flaunting  feather, 
A  long  queue  tied  with  tape  and  leather; 


200 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES 


Padded  breast  and  waist  so  little, 
Make  the  soldier  to  a  tittle ; 
By  cards  and  dance,  and  dissipation, 
He's  sure  to  win  a  Marshal's  station. 

"  Do  you  deny,  you  rascal,"  cried  the  Field- Marshal,  to  the 
terrified  watchman — "  Do  you  deny  that  you  sang  these  infa- 
mous lines  as  I  was  coming  out  of  my  house  ?" 

"  They  may  sing  it  who  like,  it  was  not.  me,"  said  the 
watchman. 

"  Why  did  you  run  away,  then,  when  you  saw  me  ?" 
"1  did  not  run  away." 

"  What  ?"  said  the  two  officers  who  had  accompanied  the 
Marshal — "not  run  away?  Were  you  not  out  of  breath  when 
at  last  we  laid  hold  of  you  there  by  the  market  ?" 

"  Yes,  but  it  was  with  fright  at  being  so  ferociously  attacked. 
I  am  trembling  yet  in  every  limb." 

"  Lock  the  obstinate  dog  up  till  the  morning" — said  the  Mar- 
shal— "  he  will  come  to  his  senses  by  that  time  !"  With  these 
words  the  wrathful  dignitary  went  away.  These  incidents  had 
set  the  whole  police  force  of  the  city  on  the  qui  vive.  In  the  next 
ten  minutes  two  more  watchmen  were  brought  to  the  office  on 
similar  charges  with  the  others.  One  was  accused  of  singing  a 
libel  under  the  window  of  the  Minister  of  Foreign  Affairs,  in 
which  it  was  insinuated  that  there  were  no  affairs  to  which  he 
was  more  foreign  than  those  of  his  own  department.  The  other 
had  sung  some  verses  before  the  door  of  the  Bishop's  Palace,  in- 
forming him  that  the  "  lights  of  the  church"  were  by  no  means 
deficient  in  tallow,  but  gave  a  great  deal  more  smoke  than  illu- 
mination. The  Prince,  who  had  wrought  the  poor  watchmen  all 
this  wo,  was  always  lucky  enough  to  escape,  and  grew  bolder 
and  bolder  with  every  new  attempt.  The  affair  was  talked  of 
everywhere.  The  Minister  of  Police,  who  was  at  cards  with 
the  King,  was  informed  of  the  insurrection  among  the  hitherto 
peaceful  watchmen,  and  as  a  proof  of  it,  some  of  the  verses  were 
given  to  him  in  writing.  The  King  laughed  very  heartily  at  the 
doggrel  verse  about  the  miserable  police  who  were  always  put- 
ting their  noses  into  other  people's  family  affairs,  but  could  never 


NEW  YEAR'S  EVE. 


20J 


smell  anything  amiss  in  their  own,  and  were  therefore  lawful 
game,  and  ordered  the  next  poetical  watchman  who  should  be 
taken  to  be  brought  before  him.  He  broke  up  the  card-table, 
for  he  saw  that  the  Minister  of  Police  had  lost  his  good  humor. 


X. 

In  the  dancing-hall  next  to  the  card-room,  Philip  had  looked  at 
his  watch,  and  discovered  that  the  time  of  his  appointment  with 
Rose  at  St.  Gregory's  had  nearly  come.  He  was  by  no  means 
sorry  at  the  prospect  of  giving  back  his  silk  mantle  and  plumed 
bonnet  to  his  substitute,  for  he  began  to  find  high  life  not  quite  to 
his  taste.  As  he  was  going  to  the  door,  the  Negro  once  more 
came  up  to  him,  and  whispered,  "Your  Highness,  Duke  Herr- 
man  is  seeking  for  you  everywhere." — Philip  shook  his  head 
impatiently  and  hurried  out,  followed  by  the  Negro.  When 
they  got  to  the  ante-chamber,  the  negro  cried  out,  "  By  Heaven, 
here  comes  the  Duke  !" — and  slipped  back  into  the  hall. 

A  tall  black  mask  walked  fiercely  up  to  Philip,  and  said, 
"  Stay  a  moment,  sir — I've  a  word  or  two  to  say  to  you — I've 
been  seeking  for  you  long." 

"  Quick  then,"  said  Philip,  "  for  I  have  no  time  to  lose." 

"  I  would  not  waste  a  moment,  sir — I  have  sought  you  long 
enough ;  you  owe  me  satisfaction,  you  have  injured  me  infa- 
mously." 

"  Not  that  I  am  aware  of." 

"  You  don't  know  me,  perhaps,"  said  the  Duke,  lifting  up  his 
mask — "  now  that  you  see  me,  your  own  conscience  will  save 
me  any  more  words.  I  demand  satisfaction.  You  and  the 
cursed  Salmoni  have  deceived  me  !" 

"  I  know  nothing  about  it,"  said  Philip. 

"  You  got  up  that  shameful  scene  in  the  cellar  of  the  baker's 
daughter.  It  was  at  your  instigation  that  Colonel  Kalt  made 
an  assault  upon  me  with  a  cudgel." 

"  There's  not  a  word  of  truth  in  what  you  say." 

"  What  ? — you  deny  it  ?    The  Lady  Blankenswerd,  the  Mar- 


202 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


shal's  lady  was  an  eyewitness  of  it  all,  and  she  has  told  me  every 
circumstance." 

"  She  has  told  your  grace  a  fancy  tale — I  have  had  nothing 
to  do  with  it — if  you  made  an  ass  of  yourself  in  a  baker's  cellar, 
that  was  your  own  fault." 

"  I  ask,  once  more,  will  you  give  me  satisfaction?  If  not,  I 
will  expose  you.  Follow  me  instantly  to  the  King.  You  shall 
either  fight  with  me,  or — go  to  his  Majesty." 

Philip  was  non-plused.  "Your  grace,"  he  said,  "  I  have 
no  wish  either  to  fight  with  you,  or  to  go  to  the  King." 

This  was  indeed  the  truth,  for  he  was  afraid  he  should  be 
obliged  to  unmask,  and  would  be  punished,  of  course,  for  the 
part  he  had  played.  He  therefore  tried  to  getoffby  every  means, 
and  watched  the  door  to  seize  a  favorable  moment  for  effecting 
his  escape.  The  duke,  on  the  other  hand,  observed  the  uneasi- 
ness of  the  prince  (as  he  thought  him),  and  waxed  more  valor- 
ous every  minute.  At  last  he  seized  poor  Philip  by  the  arm, 
and  was  dragging  him  into  the  hall. 

"  What  do  you  want  with  me  ?"  said  Philip,  sorely  frightened, 
and  shook  off  the  Duke. 

"  To  the  King.  He  shall  hear  how  shamefully  you  insult  a 
guest  at  his  court." 

"Very  good,"  replied  Philip,  who  saw  no  hope  of  escape,  ex- 
cept by  continuing  the  character  of  the  Prince.  "  Very  good. 
Come,  then,  I  am  ready.  By  good  luck  I  happen  to  have  the 
agreement  with  me  between  you  and  the  baker's  daughter,  in 
which  you  promise" — 

"Nonsense!  stuff!"  answered  the  Duke,  "that  was  only  a 
piece  of  fun,  which  may  be  allowed  surely  with  a  baker's 
daughter.    Show  it  if  you  like,  I  will  explain  all  that." 

But  it  appeared  that  the  Duke  was  not  quite  so  sure  of  the  ex- 
planation, for  he  no  longer  urged  Philip  to  go  before  the  King. 
He,  however,  insisted  more  earnestly  than  ever  on  getting  into 
his  carriage,  and  going  that  moment — Heaven  knows  where — to 
decide  the  matter  with  sword  and  pistol,  an  arrangement  which 
did  not  suit  our  watchman  at  all.  Philip  pointed  out  the  dan- 
ger and  consequences  of  such  a  proceeding,  but  the  Duke  over- 


NEW  YEAR'S  EVE. 


203 


ruled  all  objections.  He  had  made  every  preparation,  and  when 
it  was  over  he  would  leave  the  city  that  same  night. 

"  If  you  are  not  the  greatest  coward  in  Europe,  you  will  fol- 
low me  to  the  carriage — Prince  !" 

"  I — am — no — prince," — at  last  stuttered  Philip,  now  driven 
to  extremities. 

"  You  are  ! — Everybody  recognized  you  at  the  ball — I  know 
you  by  your  hat.    You  shan't  escape  me." 

Philip  lifted  up  his  mask,  and  showed  the  Duke  his  face. 
"  Now,  then,  am  I  a  prince  ?" 

Duke  Herrman,  when  he  saw  the  countenance  of  a  man  he 
had  never  seen  before,  started  back,  and  stood  gazing  as  if  he 
had  been  petrified.  To  have  revealed  his  secrets  to  a  perfect 
stranger !  'Twas  horrible  beyond  conception  ! — But  before  he 
had  recovered  from  his  surprise,  Philip  had  opened  the  door,  and 
effected  his  escape. 


XI. 

The  moment  he  found  himself  at  liberty  he  took  off  his  hat 
and  feathers,  and  wrapping  them  in  his  silk  mantle,  rushed 
through  the  streets  towards  St.  Gregory's,  carrying  them  under 
his  arm.  There  stood  Rose  already,  in  a  corner  of  the  high 
church  door,  expecting  his  arrival. 

"  Ah  Philip,  dear  Philip,"  she  said,  pressing  his  hand,  "  how 
happy  you  have  made  me !  how  lucky  we  are  !  I  was  very  un- 
easy to  get  away  from  my  friend's  house,  and  I  have  been  wait- 
ing here  this  quarter  of  an  hour,  but  never  cared  for  the  frost 
and  snow — my  happiness  was  so  great :  I  am  so  glad  you're 
come  back." 

"  And  I  too,  dear  Rose,  thank  God  that  I  have  got  back  to 
you.  May  the  eagles  fly  away  with  these  trinkum-trankums  of 
great  people.  But  I'll  tell  you  some  other  time  of  the  scenes 
I've  had.  Tell  me  now,  my  darling,  how  you  are,  and  whether 
you  love  mo  still !" 


204 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


"  Ah  !  Philip,  you've  become  a  great  man  now,  and  it  would 
be  better  to  ask  if  you  still  care  anything  for  me." 

"  Thunder !  How  came  you  to  know  so  soon  that  I've  been  a 
great  man  ?" 

"  Why  you  told  me  yourself.  Ah !  Philip,  Philip,  I  only 
hope  you  won't  be  proud,  now  that  you've  grown  so  rich.  I  am 
but  a  poor  girl,  and  not  good  enough  for  you  now — and  I  have 
been  thinking,  Philip,  if  you  forsake  me,  I  would  rather  have 
had  you  continue  a  poor  gardener.  I  should  fret  myself  to  death 
if  you  forsook  me." 

"  What  are  you  talking  about,  Rose  1  'Tis  true  that  for  one 
half  hour  I  have  been  a  prince,  'twas  but  a  joke,  and  I  want  no 
more  of  such  jokes  in  my  life.  Now  I  am  a  watchman  again, 
and  as  poor  as  ever.  To  be  sure  I  have  five  thousand  dollars  in 
my  pocket,  that  I  got  from  a  Mameluke — that  would  make  us 
rich,  but  unfortunately  they  don't  belong  to  me  !" 

"You're  speaking  nonsense,  Philip,"  said  Rose,  giving  him  the 
purse  of  gold  that  the  Prince  had  given  her — "  Here,  take  back 
your  money,  'tis  too  heavy  for  my  bag." 

"  What  should  I  do  with  all  this  gold  ?  Where  did  you  get  it, 
Rose  t" 

"You  won  it  in  the  lottery,  Philip." 

"  What !  have  I  won  '?  and  they  told  me  at  the  office  my  num- 
ber was  not  yet  out — I  had  hoped  and  wished  that  it  might  come 
to  give  us  a  setting  up  in  the  world — but  gardener  Redman  said 
to  me  as  I  went  a  second  time  towards  the  office,  "  Poor  Philip — 
a  blank  " — Huzza  !  I  have  won  !  Now  I  will  buy  a  large  garden 
and  marry  you.    How  much  is  it  ?" 

"  Are  you  crazy,  Philip,  or  have  you  drunk  too  much  ?  You 
must  know  better  than  I  can  tell  you  how  much  it  is.  I  only 
looked  at  it  quietly  under  the  table  at  my  friend's,  and  was 
frightened  to  see  so  many  glittering  coins,  all  of  gold,  Philip. 
Ah !  then  I  thought,  no  wonder  Philip  was  so  impertinent — for,  you 
know,  you  were  very  impertinent,  Philip, — but  I  can't  blame  you 
for  it.  O,  I  could  throw  my  own  arms  round  your  neck  and 
cry  for  joy." 

"Rose,  if  you  will  do  it  I  shall  make  no  objections.  But 
here's  some  misunderstanding  here.    Who  was  it  that  gave  you 


NEW  YEAR'S  EVE. 


205 


this  money,  and  told  you  it  was  my  prize  in  the  lottery  ?  I  have 
my  ticket  safe  in  my  drawer  at  home,  and  nobody  has  asked  me 
for  it." 

"  Ah  !  Philip,  don't  play  your  jokes  on  me  !  you  yourself 
told  me  it  half  an  hour  ago,  and  gave  me  the  purse  with  your 
own  hand." 

"  Rose — try  to  recollect  yourself.  This  morning  I  saw  you 
at  mass,  and  we  agreed  to  meet  here  to-night,  but  since  that  time 
I  have  not  seen  you  for  an  instant." 

"  No,  except  half  an  hour  ago,  when  I  saw  you  at  Steinman's 
door.  But  what  is  that  bundle  under  your  arm  ?  why  are  you 
without  a  hat  this  cold  night  ?  Philip  !  Philip  !  be  careful.  All 
that  gold  may  turn  your  brain. — You've  been  in  some  tavern, 
Philip,  and  have  drunk  more  than  you  should.  But  tell  me,  what 
is  in  the  bundle  ?  Why — here's  a  woman's  silk  gown. — Philip — 
Philip,  where  have  you  been  ?" 

"  Certainly  not  with  you  half  an  hour  ago  ;  you  want  to  play 
tricks  on  me,  I  fancy ; — where  have  you  got  that  money,  I 
should  like  to  know  V 

"  Answer  me  first,  Philip,  where  you  got  that  woman's  gown. 
Where  have  you  been,  sir  ?" 

They  were  both  impatient  for  explanations,  both  a  little  jeal- 
ous— and  finally  began  to  quarrel. 


XII. 

But  as  this  was  a  lover's  quarrel,  it  ended  as  lover's  quarrels 
invariably  do.  When  Rose  took  out  her  white  pocket-handker- 
chief, put  it  to  her  beautiful  eyes,  and  turned  away  her  head  as 
the  sighs  burst  forth  from  her  breast,  this  sole  argument  proved 
instantly  that  she  was  in  the  right,  and  PhiTip  decidedly  in  the 
wrong.  He  confessed  he  was  to  blame  for  everything,  and  told 
her  that  he  had  been  at  a  masked  ball,  and  that  his  bundle  was 
not  a  silk-gown,  but  a  man's  mantle  and  a  hat  and  feathers.  And 
now  he  had  to  undergo  a  rigid  examination.  Every  maiden 
knows  that  a  masked  ball  is  a  dangerous  maze  for  unprotected 


206 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


hearts.  It  is  like  plunging  into  a  whelming  sea  of  dangers,  and 
you  will  be  drowned  if  you  are  not  a  good  swimmer.  Rose  did 
not  consider  Philip  the  best  swimmer  in  the  world — it  is  difficult 
to  say  why.  He  denied  having  danced,  but  when  she  asked  him 
he  could  not  deny  having  talked  with  some  feminine  masks. 
He  related  the  whole  story  to  her,  yet  would  constantly  add  : 
"  The  ladies  were  of  high  rank,  and  they  took  me  for  another." 
Rose  doubted  him  a  little,  but  she  suppressed  her  resentment  until 
he  said  they  took  him  for  Prince  Julian.  Then  she  shook  her 
little  head,  and  still  more  when  she  heard  that  Prince  Julian 
was  transformed  into  a  watchman  while  Philip  was  at  the  ball. 
But  he  smothered  her  doubts  by  saying  that  in  a  few  minutes 
the  Prince  would  appear  at  St.  Gregory's  church  and  exchange 
his  watchcoat  for  the  mask. 

Rose,  in  return,  related  all  her  adventure  ;  but  when  she 
came  to  the  incident  of  the  kiss — 

"  Hold  there  !"  cried  Philip  ;  "  I  didn't  kiss  you,  nor,  I  am 
sure,  did  you  kiss  me  in  return." 

"  I  am  sure  'twas  intended  for  you,  then,"  replied  Rose,  whilst 
her  lover  rubbed  his  hair  down,  for  fear  it  should  stand  on  end. 

"  Tf  'twas  not  you,"  continued  Rose  anxiously,  "  I  will  believe 
all  that  you  have  been  telling  me." 

But  as  she  went  on  in  her  story  a  light  seemed  to  break  in  on 
her,  and  she  exclaimed,  "  And  after  all,  I  do  not  believe  it  was 
Prince  Julian  in  your  coat !" 

Philip  was  certain  it  was,  and  cried  :  "  The  rascal !  He  stole 
my  kisses — now  I  understand  !  That's  the  reason  why  he 
wanted  to  take  my  place  and  gave  me  his  mask  !"  And  now  the 
stories  he  had  heard  at  the  masquerade  came  into  Philip's  head. 
He  asked  if  anybody  had  called  at  her  mother's  to  offer  her 
money — if  any  gentleman  was  much  about  Milk  Street ;  if  she 
saw  any  one  watching  her  at  church ;  but  to  all  his  questions 
her  answers  were  so  satisfactory,  that  it  was  impossible  to  doubt 
of  her  total  ignorance  of  all  the  machinations  of  the  rascally 
courtiers.  He  warned  her  against  all  the  advances  of  philan- 
thropical  and  compassionate  princes — and  Rose  warned  him 
against  the  dangers  of  a  masked  ball  and  adventures  with  ladies 
of  rank  by  which  many  young  men  have  been  made  unhappy — 


NEW  YEAR'S  EVE. 


207 


and  as  everything  was  now  forgiven,  in  consideration  of  the 
kiss  not  having  been  wilfully  bestowed,  he  was  on  the  point  of 
claiming  for  himself  the  one  of  which  he  had  been  cheated, 
when  his  designs  were  interrupted  by  an  unexpected  incident. 
A  man  out  of  breath  with  his  rapid  flight,  rushed  against  them. 
By  the  great-coat,  staff,  and  horn,  Philip  recognized  his  deputy. 
He,  on  the  other  hand,  snatched  at  the  silk  cloak  and  hat. 
"  Ah !  sir,"  said  Philip,  "  here  are  your  things.  I  would  not  change 
places  with  you  again  in  this  world  !  I  should  be  no  gainer  by 
the  operation." 

"  Quick !  quick  !"  cried  the  prince,  and  threw  the  watch- 
man's apparel  on  the  snow  and  fastened  on  his  mask,  hat,  and 
cloak.  Philip  returned  to  his  old  beaver  and  coat,  and  took  up 
the  lanthorn  and  staff.    Rose  had  shrunk  back  into  the  door. 

"  I  promised  thee  a  dole,  comrade — but  it's  a  positive  fact — I 
have  not  got  my  purse." 

"  I've  got  it  here,"  said  Philip,  and  held  it  out  to  him.  "  You 
gave  it  to  my  intended  there  ;  but,  please  your  Highness,  I  must 
forbid  all  presents  in  that  quarter." 

"  Comrade,  keep  what  you've  got,  and  be  off  as  quick  as  you 
can.    You  are  not  safe  here." 

The  Prince  was  flying  off  as  he  spoke,  but  Philip  held  him  by 
the  mantle. 

"  One  thing,  my  Lord,  we  have  to  settle" — 

"  Run  !  Watchman  !  I  tell  you.    They're  in  search  of  you." 

"  I  have  nothing  to  run  for.    But  your  purse,  here" — 

"  Keep  it,  I  tell  you.    Fly  !  if  you  can  run.'" 

"  And  a  billet  of  Marshal  Blankenswerd's  for  five  thousand 
dollars"— 

"  Ha  !  What  the  plague  do  you  know  about  Marshal  Blanken- 
swerd  ?" 

"  He  said  it  was  a  gambling  debt  he  owed  you.  He  and  his 
lady  start  to-night  for  their  estates  in  Poland." 

"Are  you  mad?  how  do  you  know  that?  Who  gave  you 
the  message  for  me  ?" 

"  And,  your  Highness,  the  Minister  of  Finance  will  pay  all 
your  debts  to  Abraham  Levi  and  others  if  you  will  use  your 
influence  with  the  king  to  keep  him  in  office." 


208 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


"  Watchman  !  you've  been  tampering  with  Old  Nick." 
"  But  I  rejected  the  offer." 

You  rejected  the  offer  of  the  Minister  ?" 
"  Yes,  your  Highness.    And,  moreover,  I  have  entirely  recon- 
ciled the  Baroness  Bonau  with  the  Chamberlain  Pilzou." 
"  Which  of  us  two  is  a  fool  ?" 

"  Another  thing,  your  Highness,  Signora  Rollina  is  a  bad 
woman.  I  have  heard  of  some  love  affairs  of  hers.  You  are 
deceived — I  therefore  thought  her  not  worthy  of  your  attentions, 
and  put  off  the  meeting  to-night  at  her  house." 

"  Signora  Rollina  !  how  did  you  come  to  hear  of  her?" 

"  Another  thing — Duke  Herrman  is  terribly  enraged  about 
that  business  in  the  cellar.  He  is  going  to  complain  of  you  to 
the  King." 

"  The  Duke  !    Who  told  you  about  that  ?" 

"Himself.  You  are  not  secure  yet — but  I  don't  think  he'll 
go  to  the  King,  for  I  threatened  him  with  his  agreement  with  the 
baker's  daughter.  But  he  wants  to  fight  you ;  be  on  your 
guard." 

"  Once  for  all — do  you  know  how  the  Duke  was  informed  of 
all  this?" 

"  Through  the  Marshal's  wife.  She  told  all,  and  confessed 
she  had  acted  the  witch  in  the  ghost-raising." 

The  Prince  took  Philip  by  the  arm.  "  My  good  fellow," 
he  said,  "  you  are  no  watchman."  He  turned  his  face  towards 
a  lamp,  and  started  when  he  saw  the  face  of  this  strange  man. 

"  Are  you  possessed  by  Satan,  or  .  .  .  Who  are  you  ?"  said 
Julian,  who  had  now  become  quite  sober. 

"  I  am  Philip  Stark,  the  gardener,  son  of  old  Gottlieb  Stark, 
the  watchman,"  said  Philip,  quietly. 


XIII. 

"  Lay  hold  on  him  !  That's  the  man  !"  cried  many  voices,  and 
Philip,  Rose,  and  Julian  saw  themselves  surrounded  by  six 
lusty  servants  of  the  police.    Rose  screamed,  Philip  took  her 


NEW  YEAR'S  EVE. 


209 


hand,  and  told  her  not  to  be  alarmed.  The  Prince  clapped  his 
hand  on  Philip's  shoulder — 

"  'Tis  a  stupid  business,"  he  said,  "  and  you  should  have  es- 
caped when  I  told  you.  But  don't  be  frightened,  there  shall  no 
harm  befall  you." 

"  That's  to  be  seen,"  said  one  of  the  captors.  "  In  the  mean- 
time he  must  come  along  with  us." 

"  Where  to  ?"  inquired  Philip  ;  "  I  am  doing  my  duty.  I 
am  watchman  of  this  beat." 

"  That's  the  reason  we  take  you.  Come." 

The  Prince  stepped  forward.  "  Let  the  man  go,  good  peo- 
ple," he  said,  and  searched  in  all  his  pockets  for  his  purse.  As 
he  found  it  nowhere,  he  was  going  to  whisper  to  Philip  to  give 
it  him,  but  the  police  tore  them  apart,  and  one  of  them  shouted 
— "  On  !    We  can't  stop  to  talk  here." 

"  The  masked  fellow  must  go  with  us,  too,  he  is  suspicious 
looking." 

"  Not  so,"  exclaimed  Philip,  "  you  are  in  search  of  the 
watchman.  Here  I  am,  if  you  choose  to  answer  for  taking  me 
from  my  duty.    But  let  this  gentleman  go." 

"  We  don't  want  any  lessons  from  you  in  our  duty,"  replied 
the  sergeant ;  "  march  !  all  of  them  !" 

"  The  damsel,  too?"  asked  Philip,  "you  don't  want  her  surely !" 

"  No,  she  may  go ;  but  we  must  see  her  face,  and  take  down 
her  name  and  residence,  it  may  be  of  use." 

"  She  is  the  daughter  of  widow  Bittner,"  said  Philip  ;  and 
was  not  a  little  enraged  when  the  whole  party  took  Rose  to  a 
lamp,  and  gazed  on  her  tearful  face. 

"  Go  home,  Rose,  and  don't  be  alarmed  on  my  account,"  said 
Philip,  trying  to  comfort  her,  "  my  conscience  is  clear." 

But  Rose  sobbed  so  as  to  move  even  the  policemen  to  pity 
her.  The  Prince,  availing  himself  of  the  opportunity,  attempt- 
ed to  spring  out  of  his  captors'  hands,  but  one  of  the  men  was  a 
better  jumper  than  he,  and  put  an  obstacle  in  his  way. 

"  Hallo !"  cried  the  sergeant,  "  this  fellow's  conscience  is  not 
quite  so  clear — hold  him  firm — march  !" 

"  Whither?"  said  the  Prince. 

"  Directly  to  the  Minister  of  Police." 
15 


210 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


"  Listen,"  said  the  Prince,  seriously  but  affably,  for  he  did 
not  like  the  turn  affairs  were  taking,  as  he  was  anxious  to  keep 
his  watchman-frolic  concealed.  "  I  have  nothing  to  do  with 
this  business.  I  belong  to  the  court.  If  you  venture  to  force 
me  to  go  with  you,  you  will  be  sorry  for  it  when  you  are  feast- 
ing on  bread  and  water  to-morrow  in  prison." 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  let  the  gentleman  go,"  cried  Philip  ;  "  I 
give  you  my  word  he  is  a  great  lord,  and  will  make  you  repent 
your  conduct.    He  is  "  

"  Hush  ;  be  silent,"  interrupted  Julian,  "tell  no  human  being 
who  I  am.  Whatever  happens,  keep  my  name  a  secret.  Do 
you  hear  !  an  entire  secret  from  every  one  !" 

"  We  do  our  duty,"  said  the  sergeant,  "  and  nobody  can 
punish  us  for  that ;  you  may  go  to  a  prison  yourself — we  have 
often  had  fellows  speak  as  high,  and  threaten  as  fiercely — for- 
ward !" 

"  Men  !  take  advice,  he  is  a  distinguished  man  at  court." 

"If  it  were  a  king  himself  he  should  go  with  us.  He  is  a 
suspicious  character,  and  we  must  do  our  duty." 

While  the  contest  about  the  Prince  went  on,  a  carriage  with 
eight  horses,  and  outriders  bearing  flambeaux,  drove  past  the 
church. 

"  Stop  !"  said  a  voice  from  the  carriage,  as  it  was  passing 
the  crowd  of  policemen,  who  had  the  Prince  in  custody. 

The  carriage  stopped.  The  door  flew  open,  and  a  gentleman 
with  a  brilliant  star  on  the  breast  of  his  surtout,  leaped  out. 
He  pushed  through  the  party,  and  examined  the  Prince  from 
head  to  foot. 

"  I  thought,"  he  said,  "  I  knew  the  bird  by  his  feathers. 
Mask,  who  are  you  ?" 

Julian  was  taken  by  surprise,  for  in  the  inquirer  he  recog- 
nized Duke  Herrman. 

"  Answer  me,"  roared  Herrman,  in  a  voice  of  thunder. 

Julian  shook  his  head  and  made  signs  to  the  Duke  to  desist, 
but  he  pressed  the  question  home  upon  him,  being  determined 
to  know  who  it  was  he  had  accosted  at  the  masquerade.  He 
asked  the  policemen — they  stood  with  heads  uncovered,  and  told 
him  they  had  orders  to  bring  the  watchman  instantly  before  the 


NEW  YEAR'S  EVE. 


211 


Minister  of  Police,  for  he  had  been  singing  wicked  verses — 
they  had  heard  some  of  them.  That  the  mask  had  given  him- 
self out  as  some  great  lord  of  the  court,  but  that  they  believed 
that  to  be  a  false  pretence,  and  therefore  considered  it  their 
duty  to  take  him  into  custody. 

"  The  man  is  not  of  the  court,"  answered  the  Duke,  « take 
my  word  for  that.  He  insinuated  himself  clandestinely  into  the 
ball,  and  passed  himself  off  for  Prince  Julian.  I  forced  him 
to  unmask,  and  detected  the  impostor,  but  he  escaped  me.  I 
have  informed  the  Lord  Chamberlain — off  with  him  to  the  pa- 
lace !    You  have  made  a  fine  prize  !" 

With  these  words  the  Duke  strode  back  to  his  carriage,  and 
once  more  urging  them  not  to  let  the  villains  escape,  gave  orders 
to  drive  on. 

The  Prince  saw  no  chance  left.  To  reveal  himself  now 
would  be  to  make  his  night's  adventures  the  talk  of  the  whole 
city.  He  thought  it  better  to  disclose  his  incognito  to  the  Cham- 
berlain, or  the  Minister  of  Police.  "  Since  it  must  be  so,  come 
on  then,"  he  said  ;  and  the  party  marched  forward,  keeping  a 
firm  hand  on  the  two  prisoners. 


XIV. 

Philip  was  not  sure  whether  he  was  bewitched,  or  whether  the 
whole  business  was  not  a  dream,  for  it  was  a  night  such  as  he 
had  never  passed  before  in  his  life.  He  had  nothing  to  blame 
himself  for  except  that  he  had  changed  clothes  with  the  Prince, 
and  then,  whether  he  would  or  no,  been  forced  to  support  his 
character.  He  felt  pretty  safe,  for  it  was  the  princely  watch- 
man who  had  been  at  fault,  and  he  saw  no  occasion  for  his  be. 
ing  committed.  His  heart  beat,  however,  when  they  came  to 
the  palace.  His  coat,  horn  and  staff  were  taken  from  him. 
Julian  spoke  a  few  words  to  a  young  nobleman,  and  immediately 
the  policemen  were  sent  away  :  the  Prince  ascended  the  stairs, 
and  Philip  had  to  follow. 
"  Fear  nothing,"  said  Julian,  and  left  him.    Philip  was  taken 


212 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


to  a  little  anteroom,  where  he  had  to  wait  a  good  while.  At 
last  one  of  the  royal  grooms  came  to  him,  and  said,  "  Come  this 
way,  the  King  will  see  you." 

Philip  was  distracted  with  fear.  His  knees  shook  so  that  he 
could  hardly  walk.  He  was  led  into  a  splendid  chamber.  The 
old  King  was  sitting  at  a  table,  and  laughing  long  and  loud  ;  near 
him  stood  Prince  Julian  without  a  mask.  Besides  these  there 
was  nobody  in  the  room. 

The  King  looked  at  Philip  with  a  good-humored  expression. 
"  Tell  me  all — without  missing  a  syllable — that  you  have  done 
to-night." 

Philip  took  courage  from  the  condescension  of  the  old 
King,  and  told  the  whole  story  from  beginning  to  end.  He 
had  the  good  sense,  however,  to  conceal  all  he  had  heard  among 
the  courtiers  that  could  turn  to  the  prejudice  of  the  Prince. 
The  King  laughed  again  and  again,  and  at  last  took  two  gold 
pieces  from  his  pocket,  and  gave  them  to  Philip  ;  "  Here,  my 
son,  take  these,  but  say  not  a  word  of  your  night's  adventures. 
Await  your  trial,  no  harm  shall  come  of  it  to  you.  Now  go, 
my  friend,  and  remember  what  I  have  told  you." 

Philip  knelt  down  at  the  King's  feet  and  kissed  his  hand,  as 
he  stammered  some  words  of  thanks.  When  he  arose,  and 
was  leaving  the  room,  Prince  Julian  said,  "  I  beseech  your 
Majesty  to  allow  the  young  man  to  wait  a  few  minutes  outside. 
I  have  some  compensation  to  make  to  him  for  the  inconvenience 
he  has  suffered." 

The  King  smiling  nodded  his  assent,  and  Philip  left  the  apart- 
ment. 

"  Prince  !"  said  the  King,  holding  up  his  fore-finger  in  a  threat- 
ening manner  to  his  son,  " 't  is  well  for  you  that  you  told  me 
nothing  but  the  truth.  For  this  time  I  must  pardon  your  wild 
scrape,  but  if  such  a  thing  happens  again  you  will  offend  me. 
There  will  be  no  excuse  for  you !  I  must  take  Duke  Herrman 
in  hand  myself.  I  shall  not  be  sorry  if  we  can  get  quit  of  him. 
As  to  the  ministers  of  Finance  and  Police,  I  must  have  further 
proofs  of  what  you  say.  Go  now,  and  give  some  present  to 
the  gardener.  He  has  shown  more  discretion  in  your  charac- 
ter than  you  have  in  his." 


NEW  YEAR'S  EVE. 


213 


The  Prince  took  leave  of  the  King,  and  having  changed  his 
dress  in  an  anteroom,  sent  for  Philip  to  go  to  his  palace  with  him  ; 
there  he  made  him  go  over — word  for  word — everything  that  had 
occurred.  When  Philip  had  finished  his  narrative,  the  Prince 
clapt  him  on  the  shoulder,  and  said,  "  Philip,  listen  !  You  're  a 
sensible  fellow.  I  can  confide  in  you,  and  I  am  satisfied  with 
you.  What  you  have  done  in  my  name  with  the  Chamberlain 
Pilzou,  the  Countess  Bonau,  the  Marshal  and  his  wife,  Colonel 
Kalt  and  the  Minister  of  Finance — I  will  maintain — as  if  I  had 
done  it  myself.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  you  must  take  all  the 
blame  of  my  doings  with  the  horn  and  staff.  As  a  penalty  for 
your  verses,  you  shall  lose  your  office  of  watchman.  You  shall 
be  my  head-gardener  from  this  date  ;  and  have  charge  of  my 
two  gardens  at  Heimleben  and  Quellenthal.  The  money  I  gave 
your  bride  she  shall  keep  as  her  marriage-portion, — and  I  give 
you  the  order  of  Marshal  Blankenswerd  for  five  thousand  dol- 
lars, as  a  mark  of  my  regard.    Go,  now  ;  be  faithful  and  true  !" 

Who  could  be  happier  than  Philip  !  He  almost  flew  to  Rose's 
house.  She  had  not  yet  gone  to  bed,  but  sat  with  her  mother 
beside  a  table,  and  was  weeping.  He  threw  the  purse  on  the 
table,  and  said,  "  Rose,  there  is  thy  dowry !  and  here  are  five 
thousand  dollars,  which  are  mine !  As  a  watchman  I  have 
transgressed,  and  shall  therefore  lose  my  father's  situation ;  but  the 
day  after  to-morrow  I  shall  go,  as  head-gardener  of  Prince  Julian, 
to  Heimleben.  And  you,  mother,  and  Rose,  must  go  with  me. 
My  father  and  mother  also.  I  can  support  you  all.  Huzza ! — 
God  send  all  good  people  such  a  happy  New  Year  !" 

Mother  Bittner  hardly  knew  whether  to  believe  Philip  or  not, 
notwithstanding  she  saw  the  gold.  But  when  he  told  her  how 
it  had  all  happened — though  with  some  reservations — she  wept 
with  joy,  embraced  him,  laid  her  daughter  on  his  breast,  and 
then  danced  about  the  room  in  a  perfect  ecstasy.  "  Do  thy  father 
and  mother  know  this,  Philip  V  she  said.  And  when  he  an- 
swered no,  she  cried  :  "  Rose,  kindle  the  fire,  put  over  the  water, 
and  make  some  coffee  for  all  of  us."  She  then  wrapped  her- 
self in  her  little  wroollen  shawl  and  left  the  house. 

But  Rose  lay  on  Philip's  breast,  and  forgot  all  about  the  wood 
and  water.    And  there  she  yet  lay  when  Mother  Bittner  returned 


214 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


with  old  Gottlieb  and  Mother  Katherine.  They  surrounded  their 
children  and  blessed  them.  Mother  Bittner  saw  if  she  wanted 
coffee,  she  would  be  obliged  to  cook  it  herself. 

Philip  lost  his  situation  as  watchman.     Rose  became  his 

wife  in  two  weeks,  their  parents  went  with  them  to  but 

this  does  not  belong  to  the  adventures  of  a  New  Year's  Eve, 
a  night  more  ruinous  to  the  Minister  of  Finance  than  any  one 
else ;  neither  have  we  heard  of  any  more  pranks  by  the  wild 
Prince  Julian.* 

• 

*  In  some  parts  of  this  translation,  the  editor  has  been  assisted  by  a  very 
spirited,  but  quite  imperfect  version  of  it,  which  appeared  in  Blackwood'* 
Magazine  several  years  since. 


rmis. 


TALES  FROM  THE  GERMAN 

OF 

HEINRICH  ZSCHOKKE. 


BY 


PARKE  GODWIN. 


PART  II. 


NEW  EDITION. 


NEW  YORK: 
WILEY    k  HALSTED, 

No.  351  BROADWAY. 

1856. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Illumination  ;  or,  the  Sleep- Waker,   1 

The  Broken  Cup,   .93 

Jonathan  Frock,  .      .  .115 

The  Involuntary  Journey,       ...  ....  179 

Leaves  from  the  Journal  of  a  Poor  Vicar  in  Wiltshire,    .  .201 

* 


♦ 


ILLUMINATION ; 

OR, 

THE  SLEEP. WAKER 


ILLUMINATION; 

OR, 

THE  SLEEP -WAKER.* 


INTRODUCTION. 

To  the  healing  of  our  wounds,  received  at  the  battle  of  Molito 
— we  were  four  German  officers — contributed  not  a  little  the 
charms,  beauty  and  seclusion  of  the  villa,  the  hospitality  and 
goodness  of  our  wealthy  host,  Ambrosio  Faustino,  and  the  grace 
of  his  very  lovely  wife  ;  but  most  of  all  were  we  aided  by  the 
pleasing  discovery,  that  the  open-hearted  Faustino,  as  well  as  his 
wife,  was  of  German  descent.  He  had  formerly  been  called 
Faust,  but  through  a  singular  chain  of  events  had  been  induced 
to  make  a  settlement  in  Italy,  and  alter  his  name.  The  exquisite 
pleasure  of  exchanging  words  in  our  mother  tongue,  far  from 
the  Heaven  of  our  native  land,  inspired  us  with  reciprocal  con- 
fidence. 

I  had  permission  to  pass  my  morning  hours  in  Faustino's  library. 
There  I  found,  amid  a  splendid  collection  of  well-selected  works, 
some  volumes  of  Italian  manuscript,  written  by  Faustino  himself. 
They  were  "  Remarkable  Events  from  his  own  Life,"  mingled 
with  observations  upon  Painting  and  Sculpture.    When  I  asked 

*  The  title  of  this  story  in  the  German  has  a  beautiful  significance,  Die 
Verklarungen,  or  the  Clarifications  referring  to  that  process  in  chemistry  by 
which  any  substance  is  freed  from  its  grosser  ingredients.  But  the  word 
clarification  in  English  has  somewhat  of  an  uncouth  sound,  and  does  not  ex- 
press the  author's  meaning  so  well  as  illumination,  which  is  in  common  use, 
when  speaking  of  an  exalted  spiritual  condition  of  mind.  Sometimes,  also, 
we  use  the  word  Transfiguration  ;  at  others,  Trance.  P.  G. 

2 


2 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


that  I  might  be  allowed  to  read  these,  Faustino  was  not  only  kind 
enough  to  grant  the  favour,  but  he  even  opened  one  of  the  bundles, 
and  pointed  out  with  his  finger  what  I  should  peruse.  "  Only 
read  it,'"'  said  he,  "and  believe  me,  it  is  true,  as  incredible  as  it 
all  appears.  Even  to  myself,  although  I  have  experienced  it  all,  it 
seems  at  times  a  mere  illusion  of  the  imagination." 

He  acquainted  me  also  with  several  small  collateral  circum- 
stances. But  enough  in  the  way  of  preliminary.  Here  fol- 
lows an  extract  from  Faustino's,  or  rather  Faust's  "  Remarkable 
Events." 


THE  ADVENTURE  AT  VENZONI. 

On  the  12th  of  September,  1771,  at  Spilemburg,  I  passed  over 
the  river  Tagliamento.  I  approached  the  borders  of  Germany, 
my  father-land,  which  I  had  not  seen  in  many  years,  with  firm 
steps.  Yet  my  mind  was  oppressed  with  an  indescribable  dejec- 
tion. It  seemed  as  if  some  invisible  influence  was  drawing  me 
back.  It  cried  within  me  constantly — Return — return  !  In 
fact,  I  stopped  several  times  upon  that  miserable  road,  and  as  I 
looked  back  upon  Italy  would  have  returned  to  Venice,  had  I  not 
asked  myself,  "  What  wilt  thou  do  ?  how  canst  thou  live  ?"  and  I 
advanced  again  toward  the  dark  mountains  that  towered  above 
amidst  clouds  and  rain. 

I  had  little  money  in  my  pocket,  scarcely  enough  to  enable  me 
to  reach  Vienna,  unless  I  begged  by  the  way,  or  sold  my  watch, 
linen,  and  my  best  suit,  which  I  carried  in  my  knapsack.  The 
brightest  portion  of  my  youth  had  been  passed  in  Italy,  to  perfect 
myself  in  painting  and  sculpture,  but  by  the  time  I  became  seven 
and  twenty,  I  had  just  learned  enough  to  know  that  I  never  could 
produce  anything  great.  It  is  true  that  my  friends  in  Rome  were 
often  kind  enough  to  encourage  me,  and  occasionally  I  received 
very  good  prices  for  some  of  my  paintings.  But  this  was  slight 
consolation,  since  I  could  not  help  despising  my  own  unsatisfac- 
tory creations.  1  had  a  painful  consciousness  that  I  was,  and 
must  remain,  incapable  of  calling  images  to  life  with  the  brush 
or  with  the  chisel.    This  almost  made  me  despair.    I  did  not 


ILLUMINATION  ;  OR  THE  SLEEP-WAKER. 


3 


desire  money,  but  I  longed  for  the  power  of  art.  I  cursed  the 
years  that  were  lost,  and  cursed  myself.  I  longed  for  a  solitude 
in  which  I  might  forget  myself,  and  transformed  into  a  village 
schoolmaster,  or  some  such  thing,  I  might  thus  punish  the  pre- 
sumptuous pride  which  had  dri\»en  me  to  rivalry  with  Raphael  and 
Angelo. 

The  rainy  weather,  which  had  lasted  several  days,  increased  my 
uneasiness.  Could  1  but  die  !  was  often  my  thought. — A  fresh 
shower  had  diverted  me  from  the  road  into  the  refuge  of  a  tree. 
I  sat  down  upon  a  rock,  and  reflected  for  a  long  time,  and  with 
deep  sadness,  upon  the  hopes  and  plans  of  life  which  had  been 
destroyed.  I  was  amidst  the  solitudes  of  the  wild  hills.  The 
cold  rain  poured  down  in  torrents,  and  not  far  from  me  a  swollen 
mountain  brook  roared  amongst  the  crags. 

"  What  will  become  of  me  ?"  sighed  I. — I  then  looked  to  see 
if  the  torrent  was  deep  enough  to  drown  me,  and  was  vexed  that 
I  had  not  already  put  an  end  to  my  sorrows  in  Tagliamento. 
Suddenly  I  was  seized  with  inexpressible  pain — a  death-like 
agony.  I  shuddered  at  my  own  determinations,  or  rather  wishes. 
I  sprang  up  and  fled  onward  through  the  pouring  rain,  as  if  I 
would  escape  from  myself.  It  was  already  evening,  and  some- 
what late. 

I  arrived  at  a  singular-looking  large  house,  standing  alone,  not 
far  from  the  town  of  Venzoni.  The  gathering  darkness,  the 
continued  tempest  of  rain,  and  my  own  exhaustion,  induced  me 
to  enter  this  building,  which  displayed  a  friendly  and  inviting 
sign  of  entertainment  to  the  stranger.  As  I  passed  the  threshold 
a  violent  shuddering  seized  me,  and  the  same  death-like  agony 
came  over  me  which  I  had  experienced  as  I  sat  upon  the  rock  in 
the  forest.  I  stopped  in  the  doorway  to  recover  my  breath,  but  I 
revived  as  quickly,  and  as  I  entered  the  innkeeper's  warm  room, 
and  breathed  the  atmosphere  with  living  men,  I  felt  calmer  than 
I  had  been  for  many  previous  days.  These  were  doubtless 
alternations  of  health  caused  by  physical  weakness. 

I  was  made  welcome,  and  cheerfully  threw  my  knapsack  down 
upon  the  table.  They  showed  me  a  small  ante-chamber  where 
I  could  exchange  my  wet  clothes  for  dry  ones  ;  but  as  I  was 
dressing,  I  heard  hasty  steps  upon  the  stairs,  the  room-door  open, 


4 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


and  rapid  inquiries  made  about  me,  such  as,  "  If  I  were  going 
to  remain  over  night;  whether  I  came  on  foot  with  a  knap- 
sack on  my  back ;  whether  I  had  light  hair,"  and  many  other 
questions  of  the  same  sort.  The  speakers  went  away,  but  soon 
returned,  and  another  voice  asked  the  same  questions. — I  could 
not  understand  all  this. 

On  returning  to  the  public  room,  all  eyes  were  bent  inquisi- 
tively upon  me,  but  I  behaved  as  if  I  had  not  noticed  anything. 
I  was  tormented  by  a  curiosity  to  know  why  they  had  asked  for 
me  with  such  earnestness,  and  turning  the  conversation,  first  upon 
the  weather,  and  next  from  the  weather  to  travelling,  then  askea 
if  any  strangers  were  in  the  house?  "Certainly,"  said  they, 
"  there  is  a  noble  family  from  Germany,  consisting  of  an  old 
gentleman,  a  young  lady,  who  is  very  sick,  but  beautiful  as  a 
picture,  an  elderly  lady  of  rank,  probably  the  young  lady's 
mother,  a  physician,  two  men-servants,  and  two  ladies'-maids." 
Their  Excellencies  had  arrived  about  noon,  and  been  detained, 
partly  by  the  bad  weather,  and  partly  by  the  weakness  of  the 
young  lady.  I  learned,  at  the  same  time,  that  the  physician,  as 
well  as  the  old  gentleman,  had  entered  the  room  in  haste,  and 
inquired  for  me  with  anxiety  and  astonishment.  The  host  as- 
sured me  "  that  their  excellencies  were  well  acquainted  with 
me ;  I  ought  to  go  up  stairs,  for  I  should  certainly  find  them  old 
friends,  since  it  appeared  that  they  had  been  expecting  me." 

I  shook  my  head,  convinced  that  there  was  some  mistake.  I 
had  not  a  single  noble  acquaintance  in  the  wide  world,  and  they 
were  not  likely  to  be  Germans.  I  was  confirmed  in  my  belief 
by  an  old  servant  of  the  strangers,  who  came  and  sat  down  at 
the  table  beside  me,  and  asked  for  wine,  in  broken  Italian.  When 
I  spoke  to  him  in  German  he  seemed  pleased  to  hear  his  mother 
tongue,  and  told  me  what  he  knew  about  the  family  he  served. 
The  gentleman  was  the  Count  Von  Hormegg,  who  was  taking 
his  daughter  to  Italy  for  a  change  of  air. 

The  more  the  old  man  drank,  the  more  talkative  he  became. 
He  looked  quite  gloomy  when  he  first  sat  down  beside  me,  but 
over  the  second  bottle  he  was  very  gay.  When  I  told  him  that 
I  thought  of  going  to  Germany,  he  sighed  deeply,  looked  towards 
heaven,  and  tears  rose  in  his  eyes.    "  Could  I  but  go  with  you  ! 


ILLUMINATION  ;  OR,  THE  SLEEP-WAKER. 


Could  I  but  go  with  you !"  he  continued  with  earnestness,  but  in 
a  low  tone  ;  "  I  can  stand  it  no  longer.  I  believe  a  curse  rests 
upon  this  family.  Strange  things  are  going  on.  I  dare  not  say 
what ;  and  if  I  did,  sir,  nobody  would  believe  me." 


THE  MELANCHOLY  TRAVELLING  PARTY. 

With  the  third  flask  of  wine,  old  Sebald,  for  so  he  was  called, 
had  given  himself  permission  to  speak  freely. 

"  Mr.  Countryman,"  said  he,  looking  anxiously  around  the 
room — but  there  was  no  one  else  in  it,  as  we  sat  alone  beside  two 
dimly-burning  tapers — "  Mr.  Countryman,  they  cannot  blindfold 
me.  Amidst  this  overflowing  abundance  of  wealth,  there  stalks 
a  curse.  The  Evil  Spirit  has  the  mastery  here.  God  be  mer- 
ciful to  us  !  The  Count  has  a  mine  of  gold,  but  he  creeps  about 
like  a  poor  sinner,  and  seldom  speaks.  He  takes  no  pleasure  in 
life.  The  old  lady,  who  is  a  companion,  or  housekeeper,  or 
something  of  the  sort,  to  the  Countess  Hortensia,  acts  as  if  an 
uneasy  conscience  kept  her  in  perpetual  fear.  So,  too,  the  Coun- 
tess herself,  though  a  child  of  Paradise  could  scarcely  be  more 
beautiful,  I  do  believe  her  father  has  married  her  to  the  Devil. 
Ave  Maria  !  what  was  that?" 

The  frightened  Sebald  jumped  up  quickly,  and  became  as  pale 
as  death.  It  was  only  the  wind  that  slammed  a  shutter  violently. 
When  I  had  quieted  my  countryman,  he  continued  :  "  It  is  no 
wonder.  We  live  in  constant  fear  of  death.  One  of  us  must 
and  will  die  soon.  I  learned  this  from  the  maid  Katharine.  God 
be  merciful  to  me !  If  I  could  not  refresh  myself  now  and  then 
over  some  wine  with  comrade  Thomas,  I  should  have  run  away 
long  since ;  for  there  is  no  want  of  victuals  and  drink  or  money 
here,  but  cheerful  spirits  are  wanting." 

I  thought  that  Sebald  was  romancing,  from  having  drunk  too 
much  of  the  tempting  wine. 

"  Why  do  you  suppose  that  one  of  you  will  die  ?" 

"  There  is  no  supposing  about  it,"  returned  Sebald,  "  it  is  but 
too  certain.    The  Countess  Hortensia  has  said  it.  and  no  one 


6 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


dare  gainsay  her.  Just  listen  :  A  fortnight  since  she  made  a 
prediction  at  Judensburg.  The  young  Countess  announced  the 
death  of  some  one  of  us,  but  we  did  not  believe  her,  as  we  were 
all  well.  We  were  journeying  upon  the  highway.  Pop!  there 
goes  Mr.  Muller,  the  Count's  secretary,  and  a  most  amiable  man, 
with  his  horse  and  his  luggage,  from  the  top  of  the  road  down 
over  the  cliffs  into  an  abyss,  ten  times  deeper  than  the  church 
steeple  is  high  !  Jesu  Maria  !  that  was  a  sight !  I  lost  my  senses. 
Man  and  horse  lay  shattered  to  pieces  below,  and  if  you  go 
through  the  village  where  he  is  buried  the  people  will  tell  you 
about  it.  I  cannot  bear  to  think  of  the  thing.  Now  the  only 
question  is,  which  of  us  is  to  be  offered  up  next  ?  But  if  it  does 
happen,  by  my  poor  soul !  I  will  ask  the  Count  on  the  spot  for 
my  dismissal,  for  there  is  something  wrong  going  on.  My  old 
neck  is  dear  to  me,  and  I  do  not  wish  to  break  it  in  the  service 
of  Satan." 

I  smiled  at  his  superstitious  distress.  But  he  swore  long  and 
loudl.y,  and  then  whispered  :  "  The  Countess  Hortensia  is  pos- 
sessed by  a  Legion  of  bad  Spirits.  About  a  year  since  she  often 
ran  about  the  roof  of  Castle  Hormegg  in  a  way  that  we  can 
scarcely  do  upon  level  ground.  She  prophecies,  and  at  times  falls 
unexpectedly  into  a  trance,  and  sees  heaven  open  before  her.  She 
looks  clean  into  the  bodies  of  men,  and  Doctor  Walter,  who  is 
certainly  an  honest  man,  is  of  opinion  that  she  can,  not  only  see 
through  people  as  if  they  were  made  of  glass,  but  look  through 
doors  and  walls.  It  is  horrible  !  In  her  saner  moments  she  is 
perfectly  reasonable.  But  Gramercy !  in  her  crazy  hours, 
when  some  one  else  speaks  from  her  mouth,  she  rules  us  all. 

Why  could  we  not  remain  upon  the  broad  highway  but  no, 

we  must  not  stop  in  Villach,  but  must  travel  over  the  most  mis- 
erable roads,  the  most  frightful  mountains,  upon  pack-horses  and 
mules.  And  why  ?  because  she  would  have  it  so  !  If  we  had 
remained  upon  the  highway,  Mr.  Muller,  God  bless  him !  might 
to-day  be  drinking  his  glass  of  wine." 


ILLUMINATION;  OR,  THE  SLEEP- WAKER. 


7 


MAKING  A  LEVY. 

The  return  of  the  inn  servants  to  the  room,  bringing  with  them 
my  slender  supper,  interrupted  Sebald's  gossip.  He  promised  to 
disclose  other  secrets  to  me  when  we  were  again  alone,  and  then 
left.  In  his  place  there  sat  down  a  small)  dark,  thin  man,  whom 
Sebald  in  passing  called  "  Doctor."  I  knew  therefore  that  I  had 
before  me  another  member  of  that  mysterious  and  sad  travelling 
party. 

The  physician  looked  at  me  for  a  long  time  silently  as  I  ate. 
He  seemed  to  be  studying  me.  Then  he  began  to  ask  me  in 
French  whence  I  came,  and  whither  I  was  journeying  ?  On  hear- 
ing that  I  was  a  German  he  became  more  friendly,  and  talked 
with  me  in  our  mother  tongue,  communicating  to  me  in  return 
that  Count  Von  Hormegg  was  on  his  way  to  Venice  with  his  sick 
daughter. 

"  How  would  you  like  to  keep  us  company  ?"  said  the  Doctor  : 
"  it  seems  you  are  going  to  Germany  without  any  definite  aim  or 
object  ?  You  are  better  acquainted  with  the  Italian  language 
than  the  rest  of  us — know  the  people,  the  customs,  and  the  most 
healthy  districts — you  would  be  very  useful  to  us.  The  Count 
would  put  you  immediately  in  the  place  of  his  deceased  Secreta- 
ry, where  you  would  have  your  board  paid,  an  easy  life,  a  sal- 
ary of  six  hundred  guilders,  to  say  nothing  of  the  well-known  lib- 
erality of  the  Count." 

I  shook  my  head,  and  remarked  that  I  did  not  know  the  Count 
well  enough,  nor  was  he  sufficiently  acquainted  with  me,  to  be 
certain  beforehand  that  we  should  suit  each  other.  Upon  this  the 
Doctor  eulogized  the  Count.  I  replied  that  it  would  be  difficult 
to  say  as  much  in  my  favour  to  the  Count.  "  Oh  !"  he  cried 
hastily,  "  if  that  is  the  only  objection,  you  are  already  recom- 
mended to  him.    Rely  upon  that." 

"  Recommended  ?  by  whom  ?" 

The  Doctor  seemed  to  be  seeking  for  words  to  retrieve  his  has- 
ty indiscretion : — "  Well,  then,  through  necessity,  I  will  ven- 
ture to  say  that  the  Count  woujd  pay  you  a  hundred  Louis  d'ors 
if  you — " 


8 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


"  No,  "  answered  I,  "  I  never  have  worked  in  my  life  for  the 
superfluous,  only  for  the  needful.  From  childhood  up  I  have 
been  accustomed  to  independence.  I  am  anything  but  rich,  but 
I  will  not  sell  my  freedom." 

The  Doctor  seemed  to  be  annoyed,  but  I  was  quite  serious  in 
what  I  had  said.  Besides,  I  had  absolutely  made  up  my  mind 
not  to  return  to  Italy,  and  thus  reawaken  my  passion  for  the  arts ; 
and  I  will  not  deny  that  the  sudden  importunity  of  the  Doctor,  no 
less  than  the  character  of  the  travelling  party,  were  both  dis- 
agreeable to  me,  although  I  did  not  exactly  believe  that  the  sick 
Countess  was  possessed  by  a  Legion  of  Evil  Spirits. 

The  physician  left  me,  finding  that  his  entreaties  only  increas- 
ed my  aversion  to  joining  their  party. 

I  now  revolved  in  my  mind  many  little  considerations,  weighed 
my  poverty  against  a  comfortable  life  in  the  suite  of  a  rich  count, 
and  fumbled  the  few  gold  pieces  in  my  pocket,  which  were  my 
whole  fortune.  But  the  substance  of  my  decision  was  this : 
"  Away  from  Italy  !  God's  world  lies  open  before  thee.  Be  firm  ! 
Only  peace  in  thy  heart,  a  village-school,  and  independence  ! 
But  I  must  first  be  at  peace  with  myself.  I  have  lost  all — the 
whole  future  plan  of  my  life  !    Gold  cannot  recompense  that." 


NEW  ATTEMPTS  AT  IMPRESSMENT. 

My  astonishment  increased  not  a  little  when  a  servant  of  the 
Count  appeared,  ten  minutes  after  the  Doctor's  departure,  and  in 
the  Count's  name  requested  me  to  call  at  his  room.  "  What  the 
deuce  do  these  people  want  of  me  ?"  thought  I,  but  I  promised  to 
come.  At  any  rate,  the  adventure  excited  my  curiosity,  if  it  did 
not  amuse  me. 

I  found  the  Count  alone,  taking  long  strides  up  and  down  the 
room.  He  was  a  tall,  stout,  fine-looking  gentleman,  dignified  in 
appearance,  with  something  pleasing,  yet  melancholy,  in  his  fea- 
tures. He  came  to  meet  me  immediately,  apologized  for  having 
sent  for  me,  and  leading  me  to  a  chair,  repeated  what  he  had 
heard  through  the  Doctor,  and  renewed  his  offers,  which  I  de- 


ILLUMINATION  ;  OR,  THE  SLEEP-WAKER.  9 

clined,  modestly,  but  firmly.  With  his  hands  crossed  upon  his 
back,  he  thoughtfully  approached  the  window,  then  turning  sud- 
denly around,  sat  down  close  beside  me,  took  my  hand  in  his,  and 
said,  "  Friend,  I  appeal  to  your  heart.  My  eyes  must  strangely 
deceive  me  if  you  are  not  an  honourable  man.  I  will  speak 
freely.  Stay  with  me,  I  beg  of  you,  but  two  years.  Rely  upon 
my  most  heartfelt  gratitude.  You  shall  have  all  the  money  that 
you  require,  and  at  the  end  of  that  time  I  will  pay  you  a  capital 
of  a  thousand  Louis  d'ors,  that  you  may  not  regret  the  loss  of  a 
couple  of  years  in  my  service." 

He  said  this  in  tones  of  such  kindness  and  entreaty,  that  I  was 
more  touched  by  them  than  by  his  promise  of  the  immense  capital, 
which,  with  my  few  wants,  would  have  secured  to  me  an  easy  and 
independent  life  for  the  future.  I  would  have  accepted  on  these 
terms,  had  I  not  been  ashamed  to  show  that  I  finally  gave  in  for 
the  sake  of  a  contemptible  sum  of  money.  On  the  other  hand, 
this  brilliant  offer  appeared  suspicious. 

"  Gracious  sir,"  answered  I,  "  for  such  sums  you  can  com- 
mand greater  talents  than  mine.  You  are  not  acquainted  with 
me."  I  told  him  freely  about  my  previous  occupations  and  for- 
tune,  and  thought  I  could  thus  put  aside  his  offers  and  his  desire 
for  my  company,  without  giving  him  offence. 

"  We  must  not  part  again  !"  cried  he,  pressing  my  hand  earn- 
estly, "  we  must  not ;  for  you  are  the  one  I  sought.  For  your 
sake — wonder  as  you  may — I  have  undertaken  this  journey  with 
my  daughter ;  for  your  sake  did  I  choose  this  miserable  road 
from  Villach,  that  I  might  not  miss  you ;  for  your  sake  I  en- 
tered this  inn." 

I  looked  at  the  Count  in  amazement,  thinking  he  must  have 
had  a  fancy  to  make  himself  merry  at  my  expense.  "  How  could 
you  seek  me,  when  you  did  not  know  me,  when  none  knew  the 
way  I  was  going,  when  I  did  not  know  myself,  three  days  since, 
that  I  should  travel  to  Germany  upon  this  road  ?" 

"  Is  this  not  as  I  say?"  he  continued.  "  This  afternoon  you 
rested  in  a  wood  ;  you  were  sitting  in  a  wilderness,  full  of  sor- 
row ;  you  leaned  upon  a  rock,  under  a  great  tree  ;  you  gazed 
upon  a  forest  stream  ;  you  ran  eagerly  into  the  pouring  rain  ! 
Is  it  not  thus  ?    Acknowledge  it  to  me  candidly,  was  it  not  so  V 


10 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


These  words  made  me  almost  lose  my  senses.  He  saw  my 
consternation,  and  said,  "  Indeed  it  is  so !  you  are  the  man 
whom  I  seek." 

I  will  not  deny  that  a  superstitious  fear  crept  over  me.  With- 
drawing my  hand  from  his,  I  cried,  "  But  who  has  watched  me? 
Who  told  you  this?" 

"  My  daughter,"  answered  he,  "  my  sick  daughter.  I  can  well 
believe  that  this  appears  extraordinary  to  you,  but  the  poor  child 
has  both  seen  and  said  many  more  wonderful  things  in  her  ill- 
ness. For  four  weeks  she  has  declared  that  she  could  not  be  re- 
stored to  perfect  health  unless  through  your  mediation.  My 
daughter  described  you  to  me  four  weeks  since,  as  you  now 
stand  before  me,  and  about  a  fortnight  since  she  declared  that, 
sent  by  God,  you  were  coming  to  meet  us,  and  that  we  must 
leave  our  abode  to  seek  you  ;  so  we  set  out.  She  pointed  out  the 
direction  we  should  take,  or  rather  what  part  of  the  country  we 
must  traverse  by  the  compass.  With  the  compass  in  the  carriage 
and  the  map  in  our  hands,  we  travelled  on,  uncertain  whither, 
like  sailors  on  the  sea.  At  Villach  she  showed  us  the  nearest 
way  to  you,  describing  even  its  peculiarities,  and  we  were  forced 
to  leave  the  highway.  I  learnt  from  Hortensia's  mouth  this  after- 
noon how  near  you  were  already,  and  also  the  little  circumstances 
which  I  have  just  mentioned.  Immediately  after  your  arrival, 
Doctor  Walter  assured  me,  from  the  mouth  of  the  host,  that  you 
exactly  resembled  the  person  whom  Hortensia  had  described  a 
month  since,  and  whom  she  has  mentioned  daily  from  that  time. 
Now  I  am  convinced  of  this,  and  as  thus  much  has  come  to  pass, 
I  do  not  doubt  a  moment  that  you,  and  no  other,  can  save  my 
child,  and  give  me  back  the  happiness  of  my  life." 

He  was  silent,  and  awaited  my  reply.  In  my  indecision  I  sat 
for  a  long  time  without  uttering  a  word.  Nothing  so  extraordi- 
nary had  ever  happened  to  me  before.  "  What  you  say  to  me, 
Sir  Count,  is  incomprehensible,  and,  therefore,  with  your  permis- 
sion, quite  incredible.  I  am,  or  rather  I  was,  but  an  artist ;  I  un- 
derstand nothing  about  physicking." 

"  There  is  much  in  life  that  is  incomprehensible,  but  all  that 
is  incomprehensible  is  not  incredible,  particularly  when  we  can- 
not deny  the  reality  of  appearances,  though  their  causes  are  hid- 

9 


ILLUMINATION;  OR,  THE  SLEEP- WAKER.  11 


den  from  us.  You  are  no  physician.  That  may  be,  yet  do  not 
doubt  a  moment  that  the  power  which  made  known  your  existence 
to  my  daughter,  has  intended  you  for  her  preserver.  In  my 
younger  days,  I  was  a  Freethinker,  who  scarcely  believed  in  a 
God  ;  but  in  my  old  age,  I  find  it  possible  to  believe  in  Devils, 
Witches,  Ghosts,  and  Fairies,  as  obstinately  as  any  old  peasant 
woman.  From  this,  dear  Faust,  you  will  understand  the  cause 
of  my  importunity  and  my  offer.  The  first  is  pardonable  in  a  fa- 
ther  who  lives  in  constant  fear  for  his  only  child,  and  the  last  is 
not  too  great  for  the  preservation  of  so  precious  a  life.  I  per- 
ceive  that  all  this  appears  singular,  strange,  and  romantic  to 
you.  Only  remain  with  us  and  you  will  be  the  witness  of  many 
extraordinary  things  !  Do  you  want  any  occupation  beyond  that 
afforded  by  the  amusements  of  travelling  ?  It  depends  upon  you 
to  choose  what  it  shall  be.  I  will  force  no  labour  upon  you, 
only  be  my  faithful  companion,  my  consolation.  A  sad  hour  lies 
before  me,  and  perhaps  it  is  near  at  hand.  One  of  our  party 
will  die  a  sudden,  and,  if  I  understood  aright,  an  uncommon 
death.  Perhaps  it  will  be  myself.  My  daughter  has  foretold  it, 
and  it  will  be  accomplished.  I  tremble  at  the  approach  of  that 
fatal  moment,  from  which  my  whole  fortune  cannot  buy  me  free. 
I  am  a  very  unhappy  man." 

He  said  yet  more,  and  was  moved  even  to  tears.  I  was  pecu- 
liarly embarrassed.  All  that  I  had  heard,  excited  first  my  won- 
der, and  then,  very  naturally,  my  doubts.  I  suspected  the  Count 
of  not  being  in  his  right  mind,  and  then  suspected  my  own 
sanity.  I  finally  came  to  the  bold  determination  of  engaging  in 
this  strange  business,  come  what  would  of  it.  It  seemed  unjust 
to  regard  the  Count  as  a  cheat,  and  I  stood  in  God's  wide  world, 
without  employment  or  support. 

"  Sir  Count,"  said  I,  "  I  disclaim  your  generous  offer.  Give 
me  only  what  I  require  for  my  necessities,  and  I  will  accompany 
you.  It  is  enough  if  I  can  hope  to  contribute  to  your  happiness 
and  the  well-being  of  your  daughter,  although  I  cannot  conceive 
how  ?  The  life  of  man  is  worth  much  :  I  should  be  proud  could  I 
venture  to  believe  I  had  saved  the  life  of  one  human  being :  I  re- 
lease you,  however,  from  all  that  you  promised  me.  I  do  nothing 
for  money,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  I  will  retain  my  independence, 


12 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


remaining  in  your  suite  so  long  as  you  shall  derive  any  advantage 
from  me,  and  I  feel  contented  in  your  service,  [f  you  accept  this 
proposition,  I  belong  to  your  suite.  You  can  present  me,  then,  to 
your  invalid." 

The  eyes  of  the  Count  glistened  with  joy.  He  silently  clasp- 
ed me  in  his  arms,  and  pressed  me  to  his  breast,  as  he  sighed — 
"  God  be  praised  !"  After  a  pause,  he  continued  :  "  To-morrow 
you  shall  see  my  daughter.  She  has  already  retired  to  bed.  I 
must  prepare  her  for  your  presence." 

"  Prepare  her  for  my  presence !"  exclaimed  I  in  amazement ; 
"  did  you  not  tell  me,  a  few  minutes  since,  that  she  had  announ- 
ced my  arrival,  described  my  person  ?" 

"  Pardon  me,  dear  Faust.  There  is  one  circumstance  which  I 
forgot  to  mention  to  you.  My  daughter  is  in  some  sense  a  double 
person.  In  her  natural  state  she  knows  not  a  word  of  what 
she  says,  hears,  or  sees,  in  her  trances,  if  I  may  so  call  them. 
She  does  not  recollect  the  least  trifle  occurring  at  those  periods, 
and  would  herself  doubt  that  she  had  done  and  said  what  we  tell 
her,  had  she  not  every  reason  to  put  confidence  in  my  words. 
But  she  remembers  in  her  trances  all  that  took  place  in  the  pre- 
vious trances,  and  also  her  experiences  in  common  and  natural 
life.  She  has  only  seen  and  described  you  in  her  trances,  but 
beyond  that  knows  nothing  of  you  except  what  we  have  repeated 
to  her  of  her  own  expressions.  Let  us  wait  for  one  of  her  strange 
moments,  and  I  do  not  doubt  but  that  she  will  recollect  you  im- 
mediately." 

In  a  conversation  of  several  hours'  length,  I  learned  from  the 
Count,  that  the  Countess  had,  many  years  ago,  even  as  a  child, 
a  propensity  for  walking  in  her  sleep.  When  in  these  states 
of  somnambulism,  and  without  ever  remembering  it  afterwards, 
she  would  leave  the  bed  with  closed  eyes,  dress  herself,  write  let- 
ters to  her  absent  friends,  play  most  difficult  pieces  upon  the 
piano,  and  perform  a  hundred  other  things  with  an  adroitness  which 
she  did  not  possess  in  her  waking  state,  nor  could  she  afterwards 
attain  it.  The  Count  believed  that  this,  which  he  called  Ecstasy 
or  Trance,  was  nothing  more  than  a  higher  degree  of  Somnam- 
bulism, that  was,  however,  weakening  his  daughter  and  leading 
unto  her  death. 


ILLUMINATION;  OR,  THE  SLEEP-WAKER. 


L3 


AN  AWFUL  CATASTROPHE. 

It  must  have  been  rather  late  when  I  left  the  Count's  room.  I 
found  no  one  in  the  sitting-room  but  old  Sebald,  who  was  making 
himself  comfortable  over  some  wine. 

"  Sir,"  said  he,  "  do  talk  a  little  German  with  me,  so  that  I 
may  not  altogether  forget  my  own  honest  tongue,  for  that  would 
truly  be  a  great  pity  !    You  have  been  talking  with  the  Count  ?" 

"  I  have  spoken  with  him,  and  now  I  shall  travel  with  him  to 
Italy  in  your  company." 

"  Excellent  !  It  always  does  me  good  to  have  a  German  face 
near  me,  and  those  Italians  must  be  regular  knaves,  as  I  have 
heard  tell.  Well,  then,  every  thing  will  please  you  in  our  com- 
pany, except  the  possessed  Countess ;  and,  now  that,  you  are  ac- 
tually one  of  us,  I  will  talk  more  freely  to  you  of  our  affairs. 
The  Count  would  be  an  excellent  gentleman  if  he  could  only 
laugh.  I  believe  he  does  not  even  like  it  when  anybody  else 
laughs.  All  that  are  about  him  wear  a  face  that  would  answer 
for  the  last  day.  The  old  lady  would  be  well  enough,  but  she 
loves  to  scold  if  we  do  not  all  fty  hither  and  thither  at  her  bidding. 
I  think  she  travels  to  Italy  for  the  sake  of  the  finely-distilled 
brandy,  for,  between  ourselves,  she  loves  a  glass  of  liquor.  Nei- 
ther would  the  young  Countess  be  amiss,  if  she  had  not,  besides 
her  pride,  a  legion  of  devils  in  her  body.  Whoever  wants  to  be 
in  her  good  graces  must  creep  upon  all  fours ;  therefore,  bow  very 
humbly  before  her.  Doctor  Walter  would  be  the  best  of  us  all, 
if  he  only  understood  the  art  of  expelling  devils.  My  comrade 
Thomas,  for  that  reason  " 

At  this  moment  the  terrified  host  rushed  into  the  room,  calling 
to  his  people,  "  Help  !  help  !  fire  !" 

"  Where's  the  fire  ?"  I  cried,  in  affright. 

"  In  a  room  above.  I  saw  the  bright  flames  at  the  window, 
from  the  outside  !" 

He  ran  away.  Confusion  and  tumult  arose  in  the  house.  I 
wished  to  go  out,  but  Sebald,  as  pale  as  a  corpse,  held  me  fast  in 
his  arms.  "  Jesu  Maria  !  what  has  happened  now  ?"  I  told 
him,  in  German,  to  get  some  water,  for  a  fire  had  broken  out  in 


14 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


the  house.  "  Another  prank  of  the  devils'  !"  sighed  he,  and  has- 
tened to  the  kitchen. 

People  were  running  up  and  down  the  stairs.  They  said  that 
the  room  which  had  taken  fire  was  fastened  ;  they  were  seeking 
instruments  with  which  to  force  the  door.  Sebald  was  up  stairs 
as  soon  as  I,  with  a  pail  of  water.  When  he  saw  the  door  to 
which  we  were  all  crowding,  he  screamed  :  "  Jesus  Maria  !  that 
is  the  room  of  the  old  lady  !" 

"  Force  the  door,"  cried  Count  Von  Hormegg  in  great  distress  : 
"  burst  it  open,  or  Madame  Von  Montluc,  who  sleeps  in  that  room, 
will  be  suffocated. " 

Meanwhile  a  man  had  arrived  with  an  axe.  With  great  diffi- 
culty he  cut  through  the  ponderous,  well-made  oaken  door. 
Then  all  rushed  forward  into  the  room,  but  every  one  flew  back 
shuddering. 

The  room  was  dark,  but  in  the  back-ground  by  the  window 
some  bluish-yellow  flames  were  playing  upon  the  floor ;  however, 
they  soon  went  out.  On  opening  the  door  a  terrible  stench  was 
wafted  towards  us.  Sebald  made  a  cross  and  ran  down  the  steps 
at  a  full  jump,  and  some  a>f  the  maid-servants  did  the  same.  The 
Count  screamed  for  a  light.  It  was  brought.  I  went  through  the 
room  to  raise  the  window.  The  Count  took  the  light  to  the  bed. 
Jt  was  empty  and  untouched,  nor  was  there  any  smoke  in  the 
room.  The  stench  was  so  strong  by  the  window  that  it  made  me 
unwell. 

The  Count  called  Madame  Von  Montluc  by  name.  As  he 
approached  with  the  lighted  taper  I  saw  at  my  feet — imagine  my 
horror ! — a  great  black  heap  of  ashes,  beside  it  a  head  so  dis- 
figured as  to  be  unrecognizable,  one  hand  and  arm,  in  another 
place  three  fingers  covered  with  gold  rings,  and  the  foot  of  a  lady 
which  was  but  partly  charred. 

"  Great  God  V'J  cried  the  Count,  turning  pale  :  "  what  is  that  V 
— Shuddering,  he  contemplated  the  remains  of  this  human  form, 
but  when  he  saw  the  rings  upon  the  fingers  he  sprang  towards 
the  Doctor,  who  was  then  entering,  with  a  loud  scream  :  "  Ma- 
dame Von  Montluc  is  burnt,  yet  there  is  no  fire,  no  smoke  !  'Tis 
incomprehensible  !" 

He  staggered  back  to  convince  himself  of  the  fact,  then  re- 


ILLUMINATION  ;  OR,  THE  SLEEP-WAKER.  15 


turned  the  light,  folded  his  hands  convulsively,  and  walked  away 
as  pale  as  death. 

I  stood  there  myself  as  if  petrified  at  the  sight  of  this  strange, 
horrible  tragedy.  All  that  had  occurred  during  the  day,  and  the 
extraordinary  things  which  had  been  said,  combined  to  stun 
me  so  that  I  looked  unmoved  upon  this  black  dust  and  coals,  the 
disgusting  remains  of  a  human  corpse  at  my  feet.  The  room  was 
soon  filled  with  the  waiters  and  maids  of  the  inn.  I  heard  their 
creeping  steps,  their  whispers — it  seemed  to  me  that  I  stood  among 
ghosts.  The  nursery  tales  of  my  childhood  seemed  to  have  been 
realized. 

When  I  came  to  my  senses,  I  worked  my  way  out  of  the  room. 
I  was  going  down  into  the  public  hall ;  at  the  same  moment  a 
side  door  opened,  and  a  young  lady  appeared  clad  in  a  light  night 
dress,  and  supported  by  two  young  women,  each  bearing  a  lighted 
taper.  Dazzled,  I  stood  looking  at  this  new  apparition.  I  had 
never  seen  such  majesty  of  form  and  movement,  such  noble 
features  either  in  nature  or  the  creations  of  the  painter  or 
the  sculptor.  The  terror  of  the  preceding  moments  was  al- 
most forgotten,  I  was  all  eyes  and  amazement.  The  young 
Beauty  tottered  towards  the  room  where  the  awful  catastrophe 
had  taken  place.  When  she  perceived  the  servants,  she  stood 
still  and  exclaimed  in  German  with  a  commanding  voice,  "  Drive 
this  rabble  away  from  here  !"  One  of  the  Count's  servants 
immediately  busied  himself  in  executing  her  orders,  which  he  did 
with  such  rudeness,  that  all  were  forced  from  the  hall  to  the 
stairs,  and  I  with  the  rest. 

"  If  there  ever  were  enchantresses,"  thought  I,  "  this  is  one !" 

Sebald  was  in  the  sitting-room  over  his  wine,  but  very  pale. 

"  Did  I  not  tell  you,"  cried  he,  as  I  entered,  "  that  one  of  us 
must  take  it !  The  Possessed  woman,  or  rather  the  malicious 
Satan,  would  have  it  so.  One  of  us  must  break  his  neck,  the 
other  be  burnt  alive — your  humble  servant :  to-morrow  I  take 
my  leave,  or  the  turn  of  my  littleness  may  come  next.  Those 
who  are  as  wise  as  I  will  not  travel  with  them  to  hell.  In  Italy 
they  say  that  the  mountains  vomit  fire  ;  God  keep  me  from  coming 
too  near  one  of  them  !    I  should  be  roast  number  one,  of  Moloch, 


16 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


to  a  certainty,  for  I  am  rather  too  pious,  although  not  always — 
a  Saint." 

I  mentioned  the  young  lady  to  him. 

14  That  was  she,"  exclaimed  he.  44  That  was  the  Countess. 
God  be  with  us  !  She  probably  wanted  to  take  a  snuff  of  the 
burnt  dish  ! — To-morrow  let  us  shake  the  dust  from  our  feet. 
Your  dear  young  life  quite  awakens  my  pity." 

44  So  that  was  the  Countess  Hortensia?" 

44  Who  else  can  it  be  ?  she  is  pretty  ;  that's  the  reason  the  King 
of  the  Devils  was  smitten  with  her,  but — " 

Sebald  was  now  called  to  the  Count.  He  went  or  rather  stag- 
gered out,  heaving  a  deep  sigh. 

This  event  had  filled  the  whole  house  with  confusion.  I  sat 
upon  a  bench,  scarcely  recognizing  myself  amongst  all  these 
wonders. 

Long  after  midnight  the  innkeeper  led  me  to  a  small  room, 
where  he  gave  me  a  bed. 


ANTIPATHY. 

The  fatigue  of  the  previous  days  made  me  sleep  soundly  until 
near  noon.  On  awaking,  the  events  of  the  day  before  seemed  to 
me  like  the  chimeras  of  a  fever,  like  the  delusions  of  intoxication. 
I  could  not  persuade  myself  of  the  reality  of  those  occurrences, 
nor  could  I  disbelieve  them,  yet  I  now  looked  upon  everything  in 
a  more  cheerful  spirit.  I  did  not  hesitate  a  moment  longer  about 
keeping  my  word  with  the  Count  Von  Hormegg.  On  the  contrary, 
my  destiny  seemed  so  new  and  extraordinary  that  I  followed  him 
with  pleasure  and  curiosity.  For  what  had  I  to  lose  in  Germany  ? 
What  had  I  to  lose  in  life  ?  What  risk  could  there  be  in  the 
suite  of  the  Count  ?  Finally,  it  depended  altogether  upon  me  to 
break  the  thread  of  the  romance  as  soon  as  I  found  its  length 
disagreeable. 

When  I  entered  the  public  room,  I  found  it  filled  with  magis- 
trates, police  officers,  capuchins,  and  peasants  from  the  neighbour- 
ing parts  ;  brought  thither,  either  by  business  or  curiosity.  Not 


ILLUMINATION  ;  OR,  THE  SLEEP-WAKER. 


17 


one  of  them  doubted  but  that  the  death  of  the  burnt  lady  was  the 
work  of  the  Devil.  The  Count  had  caused  the  remains  of  the 
unfortunate  woman  to  be  buried  by  his  own  people,  but  according 
to  the  loudly  expressed  opinion  of  the  reverend  Father  Capuchins, 
the  whole  house  must  be  sprinkled  and  blessed  that  no  traces 
might  be  left  of  the  Evil  Spirit.  This  was  done  at  great  expense. 
They  were  about  to  arrest  and  take  us  before  the  Justice.  The 
question  now  was  whether  we  were  to  answer  to  a  civil  or  eccle- 
siastical magistrate.  The  majority  of  voices  was  for  taking  us 
before  the  Archbishop  at  Udine. 

The  Count,  not  being  master  of  Italian,  was  rejoiced  to  find  that 
I  was  so.  He  had  offered  in  vain  a  large  sum  of  money  as  a 
remuneration  for  the  expenses  occasioned  by  so  unusual  an 
occurrence.  He  requested  me  to  settle  with  the  people  in  his 
name.  I  went  immediately  to  the  capuchins  and  magistrates, 
declared  to  them  that  so  far  I  had  had  as  little  previous  acquaint- 
ance with  the  strangers  as  they,  but  gave  them  two  things  to  con- 
sider. The  unfortunate  burning  had  either  occurred  naturally,  at 
any  rate  without  the  participation  of  the  Count ;  and  in  that  case 
they  might  draw  some  displeasure  upon  themselves  for  arresting 
a  gentleman  of  rank :  or  he  actually  was  in  connexion  with  evil 
spirits  ;  in  that  case,  he  might,  out  of  revenge,  play  their  cloisters, 
their  villages,  and  themselves  some  very  bad  tricks.  That  it 
would  be  most  advisable  to  take  the  Count's  money  and  let  him 
go,  as  they  would  have  nothing  then  to  fear  from  the  tribunal  or 
his  revenge,  and  most  decidedly  be  the  gainers.  My  arguments 
were  convincing,  and  the  money  was  paid  down.  Our  horses 
were  brought  out,  we  mounted  and  rode  away.  The  sky  had 
become  clear. 

The  Countess  had  already  departed  several  hours  before  with 
her  damsels  and  the  other  servants,  the  Count  remaining  behind 
with  but  one  servant.  On  the  way  he  began  to  talk  of  the  dread- 
ful occurrence  of  the  day  previous.  He  said  that  his  daughter 
had  been  much  affected  at  the  time.  For  several  hours  she 
suffered  from  cramps  and  spasms,  then  fell  into  a  gentle  sleep 
which  left  her  quiet  on  awaking,  but  she  desired  to  leave  that 
house  of  misfortune  immediately. 

"  Probably  to  prepare  me  for  my  future  situation,"  he  added : 

a 


18 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


"  I  must  submit  to  much  and  forgive  much  in  my  poor  sick  child. 
Her  will  is  uncontrollable,  and  her  excessive  irritability  makes 
her  angry  at  the  least  contradiction.  A  little  vexation  is  enough 
to  cause  her  many  days'  suffering.  1  announced  your  arrival  to 
her.  She  heard  it  with  indifference.  I  asked  whether  I  should 
present  you  to  her.  Her  answer  was :  '  Do  you  think  I  am 
so  curious  ?  There  will  be  time  enough  when  we  are  in  Venice.' 
— But  I  think  we  shall  have  opportunities  enough  by  the  way.  Do 
not  be  offended,  dear  Faust,  at  the  caprices  of  my  daughter.  She  is 
a  sick,  unfortunate  creature,  whom  we  must  treat  with  tenderness, 
if  we  would  not  send  her  to  the  grave.  She  is  my  only  treasure, 
my  last  joy  upon  earth.  The  loss  of  Madame  Von  Montluc  was 
not  of  itself  particularly  painful  to  her,  for  my  daughter  had 
begun  to  dislike  her  of  late,  perhaps  on  account  of  the  inclination 
for  strong  drink  which  she  manifested,  though  never  carried 
to  excess." 

"  Doctor  Walter  thinks  that  this  habit  had  caused  spontaneous 
combustion,  though  otherwise  she  was  very  good,  and  much 
attached  both  to  me  and  my  daughter.  I  mourn  her  loss.  Doctor 
Walter  has  told  me  of  several  instances  of  the  self-combustion  of 
human  bodies,  by  which  they  were  turned  to  ashes  in  a  few  mo- 
ments, but  these  must  happen  very  seldom.  He  tried  to  explain 
this  phenomena  upon  natural  principles,  but  I  can  neither  under- 
stand nor  conceive  anything  of  the  matter.  Only  this  I  know  ; 
that  these  flaming  gates  of  death  are  most  appalling." 

Thus  spoke  the  Count,  and  it  was  about  the  substance  of  our 
conversation  until  we  reached  Venice.  The  young  Countess, 
weak  as  she  was  in  body,  had  a  notion  to  travel  to  Venice 
by  quick  stages  without  any  delay  except  for  the  night's  rest, 
notwithstanding  the  objections  of  her  father  and  the  physician  ; 
nor  was  I  favoured  with  an  introduction.  Yes — I  always  had  to 
keep  at  a  respectful  distance  from  her,  as  unfortunately  it  was 
the  only  way  I  could  give  her  pleasure. 

She  was  carried  in  a  litter,  with  servants  running  beside  it. 
The  young  women  rode  in  one  carriage,  the  Count  in  another. 
The  Doctor  and  myself  were  on  horseback. 

The  Countess,  seeing  me  one  morning,  as  she  left  the  inn-door, 


ILLUMINATION  ;  OR,  THE  SLEEP- WAKER. 


1!) 


to  ascend  the  litter,  said  to  Doctor  Walter,  M  Who  is  that  man 
that  is  forever  taging  after  us  V9 

"  Mr.  Paust,  gracious  lady." 

"  A  disagreeable  fellow  ;  send  him  back." 

"  You  desired  him.  We  took  that  journey  on  his  account. 
You  must  look  upon  him  as  a  drug,  which  you  have  prescribed 
for  yourself." 

"  He  is  disgusting,  in  common  with  all  physic." 

I  was  near  enough  to  hear  this  not  over  flattering  conversation, 
and  do  not  know  what  kind  of  a  face  I  made,  but  1  remember 
very  well  that  I  was  not  a  little  annoyed.  If  the  Count  had  not 
been  so  kind,  I  would  have  immediately  left  this  whimsical  Venus 
to  take  care  of  herself.  I  did  not  exactly  consider  myself  hand- 
some, but  I  did  know  that  I  was  not  often  displeasing  to  women. 
But  now  to  be  tolerated  only  as  disgusting  physic,  was  too  much 
for  the  vanity  of  a  young  man,  and  besides,  one  who,  if  he  were 
a  Prince  or  Count,  would  not  hesitate  to  place  himself  amongst 
the  suitors  of  the  beautiful  Hortensia. 

This  state  of  things  continued  long  the  same.  The  Countess 
reached  Venice  without  any  especial  misfortune,  and  her  medicine 
followed  very  obediently.  We  took  possession  of  a  magnificent 
palace,  and  I  had  my  particular  rooms,  and  even  my  particular 
servants.  Count  Von  Hormegg  lived,  as  they  say,  with  great 
eclat. 

He  had  many  friends  among  the  Venitian  nobility. 


THE  ILLUMINATION. 

We  had  been  about  four  days  in  Venice,  when,  one  afternoon,  I 
was  summoned  in  great  haste  to  the  Count.  He  received  me  with 
an  unusually  cheerful  expression  of  face. 

"  My  daughter,"  said  he,  "  has  sought  you.  It  is  queer,  a  day 
has  not  passed  that  she  has  not  fallen  into  her  strange  disease, 
which  she  has  done  again  to-day ;  but  now,  for  the  first  time,  she 
desires  your  presence.  Go  with  me  into  her  chamber — yet  softly. 
Every  noise  throws  her  into  dangerous  convulsions." 


2U 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


"  But,"  said  I,  with  an  inward  shudder,  "  what  does  she  wish 
me  to  do  ?" 

"  Who  can  tell  ?  wait  the  developments  of  time.  God  will  di- 
rect all." 

We  entered  a  large  chamber,  hung  round  with  green  silk  dra- 
pery. The  two  chambermaids  leaned  silently  but  anxiously  upon 
the  window,  while  the  Doctor  sat  upon  a  sofa  considering  his  pa- 
tient. She  was  standing  bolt  upright  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
her  eyes  closed, with  one  of  her  beautiful  arms  hanging  down,  and 
the  other  half-raised,  stiff,  and  motionless,  like  a  statue.  The 
heaving  of  her  bosom  alone  betrayed  that  she  was  alive.  The 
silence  of  death  that  reigned  around,  and  the  heavenly  form  of 
Hortensia,  on  which  all  eyes  were  fixed,  filled  me  with  an  in- 
voluntary yet  pleasing  dread. 

As  soon  as  I  entered  the  silent  sanctuary,  the  Countess,  without 
opening  her  eyes,  or  changing  her  position,  said  in  an  indescriba- 
bly sweet  voice,  "  At  last,  oh  Emanuel  !  Why  remainest  thou 
so  far  off?  Come  hither  and  bless  her,  that  she  may  be  recover- 
ed from  her  sufferings." 

The  probability  is  that  I  looked  rather  silly  at  this  address, 
hardly  knowing  whether  it  was  meant  for  me  or  not.  The  Count 
and  the  Doctor  winked  to  me  to  go  nearer  to  her,  and  indicated 
that  ill  the  manner  of  a  priest  I  should  make  the  sign  of  a  cross 
before  her,  or  lay  my  hands  upon  her  as  if  to  bless  her.  I  drew 
near  her,  and  raised  my  hand  over  her  wonderfully  beautiful 
head,  but  my  reverence  for  her  quite  deprived  me  of  the  courage 
to  touch  her.  I  suffered  my  hands  to  sink  down  again  slowly. 
Hortensia's  countenance  seemed  to  betray  some  uneasiness.  I 
raised  my  hands  once  more,  and  held  them  stretched  out  towards 
her,  uncertain  what  I  ought  to  do.  Her  expression  brightened. 
This  induced  me  to  remain  in  the  position  in  which  I  was.  But 
my  embarrassment  was  increased  when  the  Countess  said,  "  Eman- 
uel, thou  hast  not  yet  the  will  to  assist  her  !  Oh  !  only  give  thy 
will — thy  will  !    Thou  art  all-powerful — thy  Will  can  do  all." 

"  Gracious  Countess,"  said  I,  "  doubt  of  everything,  but  not 
of  my  Will  to  help  you."  I  said  this  truly  with  the  most  entire 
sincerity.  For  had  she  ordered  me  to  spring  into  the  sea  for  her, 
I  would  have  done  so  with  pleasure.    It  seemed  to  me  that  I 


ILLUMINATION ;  OR,  THE  SLEEP- WAKER. 


21 


stood  in  the  presence  of  some  divinity.  This  delicate  symmetry 
of  the  limbs,  the  nobleness  of  her  whole  form,  that  countenance, 
which  seemed  to  belong  to  no  earthly  being,  had,  as  it  were,  dis- 
embodied my  own  soul.  Never  before  had  I  looked  upon  such  a 
wonderful  union  of  the  graceful  with  the  sublime.  Hortensia's  face, 
as  1  had  before  observed  it — only  transiently  or  at  a  distance — 
had  always  been  pale,  painful,  and  dejected  ;  but  now  it  was 
quite  otherwise.  An  exceedingly  delicate  red  overspread  her 
features  like  a  reflection  from  a  rose  ;  in  every  lineament  beam- 
ed a  light  which  mankind  in  its  ordinary  state  cannot  acquire 
either  by  nature  or  art.  The  expression  of  the  whole  was  a 
solemn  smile ;  and  yet  not  a  smile,  but  rather  a  deep  inward  ec- 
stasy. Her  attendants  properly  characterized  this  extraordinary  / 
state  as  a  transfiguration,  but  such  a  transfiguration  as  no 
painter  had  seen  or  conceived  in  his  most  inspired  moments. 
Add  to  the  rest,  the  statue-like  repose,  the  marble  stillness,  of  all 
the  features,  and  the  eyes  closed  as  if  in  sleep  !  Never  until  then 
had  I  experienced  such  awful  delight. 

M  Oh  !  Emanuel,"  said  she,  after  a  little  while,  "  now  thy  will 
is  sincere.  Now  she  knows  that  through  thee  she  can  be  restored. 
Thy  looks  radiate  flames  of  gold  ;  from  thy  fingers  flow  streams 
of  silvery  light ;  thou  sweepest  through  the  clear  azure  of  the 
heavens.  Oh,  how  eagerly  her  thirsty  being  drinks  in  this  splen- 
dour, this  health-bringing  flow  of  light." 

In  the  midst  of  these  somewhat  poetical  compliments,  the 
"  drugs"  to  which  a  few  days  since  I  had  the  honour  of  being 
compared,  involuntarily  recurred  to  my  mind,  and  I  quietly 
regretted  that  nothing  of  the  rays  of  gold  and  silver  had  been 
remarked  at  that  time. 

"  Be  not  angry  with  her  in  thy  thoughts,  Emanuel,"  said 
Hortensia,  "  be  not  vexed  with  the  weak  one,  whose  distempered 
fancies  compared  thee  to  a  bitter  remedy.  Be  more  magnanimous 
than  the  thoughtless  one,  who  is  misled  by  pain  and  earthly  weak- 
nesses to  abandon  herself  to  illusions.'" 

At  these  words  the  Doctor  cast  a  smile  towards  me,  and  I 
looked  at  him,  but  with  an  expression  of  astonishment,  not 
so  much  because  the  proud  Countess  had  humbled  herself  to 


22 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


make  an  apology,  but  that  she  seemed  to  have  divined  my  very 
thoughts. 

"  Oh !  do  not  dissipate  thy  attentions,  Emanuel  !"  said  the 
Ecstatic  quickly,  l-  thou  art  speaking  with  the  physician.  Bend 
thy  mind  on  her  and  her  recovery  alone.  It  pains  me  when  thy 
thoughts  are  away  from  me  even  for  one  moment.  Continue  in 
the  firm  desire  to  penetrate  her  half-distracted  being  with  the 
beneficent  energy  of  thy  light.  Seest  thou  not  how' strong  thy 
will  is  ?  The  frozen  fibres  soften  and  melt  like  the  rime  of  the 
winter  beneath  the  warm  beams  of  the  sun." 

While  she  was  saying  this  the  arm  which  had  been  raised  sunk 
down.  Motion  and  life  passed  into  her  frame.  She  requested  a 
seat.  The  doctor  brought  her  one,  which  stood  in  the  chamber, 
splendidly  decked  with  green  silk  cushions.  "Not  that!"  said 
she.  After  a  time  she  continued,  "  The  arm-chair  covered  with 
striped  chintz,  which  stands  before  the  table  in  Emanuel's  room. 
Bring  it  hither  forever." 

Strange  as  it  may  seem,  I  had  actually  left  the  arm-chair 
standing  before  my  writing  table  :  yet  the  Countess  had  not  seen 
my  room.  I  then  handed  one  of  the  chamber-maids  the  key, 
when  the  Countess  said,  u  Is  that  the  one  ?  I  do  not  recognize  the 
dark  spots.  Thou  hast  in  the  left  pocket  of  thy  vest  another  key 
— throw  it  way  from  thee  !"  I  did  so  :  it  was  the  key  of  my  chest. 

As  soon  as  the  arm-chair  was  brought  she  sat  down  in  it,  and 
seemed  to  be  perfectly  contented  in  it.  Me  she  commanded  to 
stand  right  before  her,  to  stretch  out  my  hands  towards  her,  and 
to  turn  the  tips  of  my  fingers  in  the  direction  of  her  heart. 

"  Oh  God,  with  what  bliss  the  man  is  charged  !"  she  exclaimed. 
"  Emanuel,  give  her  thy  word,  she  adjures  thee,  that  thou  wilt  not 
leave  her  until  her  inward  distractions  are  regulated  and  her 
recovery  is  complete.  Shouldst  thou  desert  her  she  must  miser- 
ably perish.    Her  life  depends  upon  thee." 

I  promised  with  transport  and  pride  to  be  the  protector  £  ad 
guardian  angel  of  so  precious  a  life.  "  Do  not  care  for  it,"  ne 
continued,  u  if,  during  her  ordinary  waking  state,  she  does  not 
know  thee.  Forgive  her,  because  she  is  an  unfortunate  one  A/ho 
does  not  know  what  she  does.  All  offences  in  mortals  are  dis- 
eases that  impair  the  powers  of  the  spirit." 


ILLUMINATION  ;  OR,  THE  SLEEP-WAKER. 


S3 


She  was  talkative,  and  so  far  from  being  vexed  by  my  ques- 
tions, she  appeared  to  listen  to  them  with  considerable  satisfaction. 
I  expressed  to  her  my  curiosity  in  regard  to  the  extraordinary 
nature  of  her  state.  I  had  never  heard  that  disease  could  render 
a  person,  as  it  were,  divine,  so  that  with  his  eyes  closed  he  could 
discern  the  unseen  and  the  distant,  and  even  the  thoughts  of 
others.  I  must  believe  that  her  state,  rightly  denominated  i 
Clarification  or  Illumination,  was  the  very  perfection  of  Health. 

After  some  moments'  silence — which  always  preceded  her  an- 
swers— she  replied,  <;  Her  health  is  like  that  of  a  dying  person, 
whose  material  parts  are  about  to  fall  asunder.  She  is  healthy, 
or  she  will  be,  when  mortality  departs,  and  her  body,  that  earthly 
lamp  of  the  Eternal  Light,  has  been  broken." 

"Yours  is  an  illumination,"'  said  I,  "that  makes  everything 
dark  to  me." 

"  Dark,  Emanuel  ?  But  thou  shalt  yet  see  through  it.  She 
knows  much  which  she  cannot  explain — she  sees  much,  now 
clearly,  and  anon  vaguely,  which  she  cannot  describe.  Lo — 
Man  is  a  compound  of  various  natures,  which  collect  and  form 
themselves,  as  it  were,  around  a  single  point,  and  by  means  of 
these  he  becomes  Man.  Thus  all  the  smaller  parts  of  a  flower 
are  held  together,  and  their  union  in  that  particular  form  consti- 
tutes them  a  flower.  And  since  each  part  supports  and  limits  the 
other,  the  one  determines  the  form  of  the  other,  and  no  one  is 
precisely  what  it  might  be  by  itself ;  for  the  whole  together  only 
is  man,  and  nothing  more.  Nature  is  like  an  immeasurable 
ocean  of  brightness,  in  which  single  opaque  points  arc  condensed. 
These  are  Creations.  Or  like  a  vast  crystal  heaven  in  which 
drops  of  light  run  together  into  stars.  All  that  is  in  the  world 
has  run  together  from  the  universal  chaos,  and  after  growing 
awhile,  dissolves  again  in  the  All,  as  nothing  can  remain  station- 
ary. Thus,  Man  is  one  of  the  ever-growing,  ever-changing 
flowers,  amid  the  manifold  existences  of  the  All.  But,  in  order 
that  he  may  be  man,  inferior  things  are  placed  about  him,  to  sup- 
port his  divine  part.  These  inferior  things,  or  natures,  go  to  form 
his  body.  This  body  is  only  the  shell  of  a  spiritual  body.  The 
spiritual  body  is  called  the  soul.  The  soul  is  the  covering  or 
recipient  of  the  Infinite.    Now,  in  regard  to  the  present  sufferer, 


24 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


the  earthly  shell  is  broken,  and  its  light  streams  out,  her  spirit 
flows  into  union  with  the  All,  from  which  it  was  separated  by  the 
more  perfect  body,  and  sees,  hears,  and  feels  all  things,  both 
without  and  within  itself.  For  it  is  not  the  body  that  perceives, 
since  that  is  only  the  lifeless  casement  of  the  soul,  without  which, 
eyes,  ears,  and  tongue,  are  like  stones.  Ah,  if  this  earthly  shell 
cannot  be  repaired  by  thy  aid,  Emanuel,  it  will  break  entirely 
and  fall  to  pieces.  She  will  then  no  longer  belong  to  humanity, 
since  she  will  have  nothing  in  common  with  men." 

She  ceased.  I  heard  as  if  she  brought  tidings  from  another 
world.  I  understood  nothing  distinctly,  yet  I  guessed  what  she 
thought.  The  Count  and  Doctor  listened  to  her  with  equal  aston- 
ishment. Both  assured  me  afterwards  that  Hortensia  had  not 
before  spoken  so  clearly,  consistently,  and,  as  it  were,  divinely, 
as  at  this  time  ;  but  generally  with  much  incoherence,  and  often 
in  pain  ;  at  times  she  had  gone  into  frightful  convulsions,  or  lay 
for  hours  together  in  a  state  of  perfect  torpidity.  Besides,  she 
had  very  rarely  answered  questions,  while  now  conversation  did 
not  appear  to  fatigue  her  at  all. 

I  caused  her  to  direct  her  attention  to  her  disease,  and  asked 
if  such  loner  conversations  did  not  diminish  her  strength.  "Not 
at  all,"  she  replied.  "  It  is  good  for  her.  She  would  always  be 
well,  if  thou  wert  by.  But  in  seven  minutes  she  will  awake. 
She  will  enjoy  a  quiet  night;  but  at  three  o'clock  to-morrow 
afternoon  her  sleep  will  come  back  ;  then  do  not  fail,  Emanuel. 
Five  minutes  before  three  the  cramps  will  again  begin  to  seize 
her  :  then  stretch  thy  hands  towards  her,  as  if  blessing  her,  with 
an  earnest  determination  to  become  her  healer.  Five  minutes 
before  three,  and  that  by  the  clock  in  thy  room, — not  by  the 
watch  in  thy  fob — which  differs  some  three  minutes.  Set  this 
one  carefully  by  that,  lest  the  patient  should  suffer  in  conse- 
quence." 

She  said  several  other  unimportant  things,  ordered  what  they 
should  give  her  to  drink  and  what  to  eat  after  she  awaked,  and 
when  they  should  put  her  to  bed,  &c,  &c.  She  was  then  silent. 
The  former  death-like  stillness  reigned.  Her  face  gradually  be- 
came pale,  as  it  commonly  was  ;  the  animation  of  her  counte- 
nance vanished.    She  now  first  appeared  to  wish  to  sleep,  or 


ILLUMINATION  ;  OR,  THE  SLEEP-WAKER.  25 


actually  to  be  asleep.  She  no  longer  held  herself  upright,  but 
sank  down  carelessly,  and  nodded  like  those  who  are  slumbering. 
She  then  began  to  extend  her  arms  and  stretch  herself.  She 
yawned,  rubbed  her  eyes,  opened  them,  and  was  almost  in  the 
same  minute  awake  and  cheerful,  as  she  had  foretold. 

When  she  saw  me,  she  started  with  some  surprise — she  looked 
around  on  the  others.  The  women  hastened  to  her,  also  the 
Count  and  Doctor. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?"  she  asked  me,  in  a  severe  tone. 

"  Gracious  Countess,  I  wait  your  commands." 

"  Who  are  you  ?" 

"  Faust,  at  your  service." 

"I  am  obliged  to  you  for  your  good  will,  but  suffer  me  to  be 
alone!"  said  she,  somewhat  pettishly,  bowed  proudly  toward  me, 
and  arose  and  turned  her  back  on  me. 

I  left  the  room  with  a  singular  mixture  of  feelings.  How  im- 
measurably different  was  the  waking  from  the  sleeping  person  ! 
Gone  were  my  gold  and  silver  rays  ;  gone  too  her  confidential 
thou,  which  penetrated  deep  into  my  innermost  feelings — even 
the  name  of  Emanuel,  with  which  she  had  enriched  me,  was  no 
longer  of  value. 

Shaking  my  head,  I  entered  my  chamber,  like  one  who  had 
been  reading  fairy  tales,  and  lost  himself  in  them  so  that  he  still 
mistakes  the  reality  for  enchantment.  The  arm-chair  before  my 
writing-table  was  wanting.  I  placed  another,  and  wrote  down 
the  wonderful  tale,  as  I  had  experienced  it,  and  as  much  of  Hor- 
tensia's  conversation  as  I  recollected,  since  I  feared  that  I  might 
not  hereafter  believe  it  myself,  if  I  had  it  not  written  before 
me.  I  had  promised  to  pardon  all  the  severity  she  might  show 
toward  me  while  awake.  Willingly  did  I  forgive  her.  Only 
she  was  so  beautiful  that  I  could  not  bear  it  with  indiffer- 
ence. 


A  SECOND  TRANCE. 


The  next  day  the  Count  Von  Hormegg  visited  me  in  my  room, 
to  inform  me  what  a  quiet  night  Hortensia  had  enjoyed,  and  how 


26  ZSCHOKKES  TALES. 


that  she  was  stronger  and  more  animated  than  she  had  been  for 
a  long  time.  "  At  breakfast  I  told  her,"  said  he,  "  all  that  passed 
yesterday.  She  shook  her  head  and  would  not  believe  me,  or 
else  she  said  she  must  have  fits  of  delirium.  She  began  to  weep. 
I  quieted  her.  I  told  her  that,  without  doubt,  she  would  be  re- 
stored to  perfect  health,  since  in  you,  dear  Faust,  there  certainly 
dwells  some  divine  power,  of  which  hitherto  you  have  been  un- 
conscious. I  begged  her  to  receive  you  into  her  society  from 
time  to  time  during  her  waking  hours,  since  I  promised  myself 
much  from  your  presence.  But  I  could  not  move  her  to  this. 
She  asserted  that  the  sight  of  you  was  insupportable  to  her,  and 
that  only  by  degrees  could  she  perhaps  accustom  herself  to  you. 
What  can  we  do  ?  She  cannot  be  forced  without  putting  her  life 
in  danger." 

Thus  he  spoke,  and  sought  in  every  way  to  excuse  Hortensia 
to  me.  He  showed  me,  as  if  in  contrast  to  Hortensia's  offensive 
dislike,  obstinacy,  and  pride,  the  most  flattering  confidence  ;  told 
me  of  his  family  affairs,  of  his  estates,  law-suits,  and  other  disa- 
greeable circumstances ;  desired  my  advice,  and  promised  to  lay 
all  his  papers  before  me,  in  order  that  my  judgment  of  his  affairs 
might  be  more  intelligent.  He  was  true  to  his  word,  that  same 
day.  Initiated  in  all,  even  his  most  secret  concerns,  I  became 
every  day  more  intimate  with  him ;  his  friendship  appeared  to 
increase  in  proportion  as  the  repugnance  of  his  daughter  aug- 
mented. At  length,  I  conducted  all  his  correspondence — had  the 
management  of  his  income,  and  the  direction  of  his  household — 
so  that,  in  short,  I  became  all  in  all  to  him.  Persuaded  of  my 
honesty  and  good- will,  he  trusted  me  with  unlimited  confidence, 
and  only  seemed  discontented  when  he  perceived,  that  with  the 
exception  of  mere  necessaries,  I  took  nothing  for  myself,  and 
steadfastly  refused  all  his  rich  presents.  Dr.  Walter  and  all  the 
male  and  female  domestics  soon  remarked  what  extraordinary  in- 
fluence I  had  acquired,  as  sudden  as  unexpected.  They  besieged 
me  with  attentions  and  flattery.  I  was  happy  on  account  of  this 
unmerited  and  general  good-will.  Still  I  would  willingly  have 
sacrificed  it  all  for  mere  recognition  from  the  inimical  Countess. 
She,  however,  remained  irreconcilable.  Her  antipathy  appeared 
almost  to  degenerate  into  hate.    She  warned  her  father  against 


ILLUMINATION  ;  OR,  THE  SLEEP-WAKER. 


27 


me,  as  against  a  cunning  adventurer  and  cheat.  Among  her 
women  she  called  me  only  the  vagabond,  who  had  insinuated 
himself  into  her  father's  confidence.  The  old  Count,  at  last,  scarce 
dared  to  allude  to  me  in  her  presence. 

But  I  will  not  anticipate  the  history  and  course  of  events. 

My  watch  was  adjusted.  It  was  really  three  minutes  different 
from  the  clock.  Five  minutes  before  three  in  the  afternoon,  nei- 
ther sooner  nor  later,  I,  unannounced,  entered  Hortensia's  room. 
The  witnesses  of  the  day  before  were  present.  She  sat  on  the 
sofa,  with  her  own  peculiar  grace,  pale,  suffering,  and  thoughtful. 
As  she  was  sensible  of  my  approach,  she  threw  a  contemptuously 
proud  look  on  me,  rose  hastily,  and  cried,  "  Who  gave  you  per- 
mission to  come  to  me  directly — without  being  announced  " 

A  violent  shriek  and  fearful  paroxysms  stopped  her  voice.  She 
sank  into  the  arms  of  her  women.  They  brought  the  chair 
which  she  had  desired  the  day  before.  Scarcely  was  she  seated 
in  it,  than  she  began  to  strike  herself  with  her  clenched  fists,  in 
the  most  frightful  manner,  and  with  incredible  velocity,  as  well 
on  the  body  as  the  head.  I  could  hardly  endure  the  horrible 
spectacle.  Trembling,  I  took  the  attitude  which  she  had  indica- 
ted the  day  before,  and  directed  the  finger  ends  of  both  my  hands 
towards  her.  But  she,  with  eyes  strongly  distorted  and  fixed, 
seized  my  hands  vehemently,  and  thrust  the  fingers  with  violence 
many  times  against  her  stomach.  I  remained  as  I  was.  She 
soon  became  more  tranquil,  closed  her  eyes,  and  after  she  had 
heaved  a  deep  sigh,  appeared  to  sleep.  Her  countenance  betray- 
ed pain.  She  muttered  something  indistinctly.  But  even  the 
pain  appeared  to  subside.  She  now  sighed  a  few  times  more,  but 
gently.  Her  countenance  gradually  became  clearer,  and  soon 
resumed  the  expression  of  internal  blessedness,  while  the  paleness 
of  her  face  was  overspread  by  a  delicate  pink. 

After  some  minutes,  she  said,  "  Thou,  true  friend  !  what  should 
I  be  without  thee  ?"  She  spoke  these  words  with  a  solemn  ten- 
derness, with  which,  perhaps,  angels  alone  can  greet  each  other. 
Her  tones  thrilled  through  all  my  nerves. 

"  Are  you  well,  gracious  Countess  V  said  I,  almost  in  a  whis- 
per— for  I  still  feared  she  might  show  me  the  door. 

"  Very,  oh  !  very,  Emanuel !"  answered  she,  "  as  well  as  yes- 


28 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


terday,  and  even  more  so.  It  seems  thy  will  is  more  decided, 
and  thy  power  more  elevated,  to  heal  her.  She  breathes — she 
swims  in  the  halo  which  surrounds  thee :  her  being,  penetrated 
by  thine,  is  in  thee  dissolved.    Would  she  could  be  ever  thus!" 

To  us  prosaic  listeners,  this  mode  of  speaking  was  quite  unin- 
telligible, though  to  me  by  no  means  unpleasant.  I  regretted 
only  that  Hortensia  thought  not  of  me,  but  of  some  Emanuel,  and 
thus  deceived  herself.  Yet  it  was  some  consolation  when  I  after- 
ward learned  from  the  Count,  that  to  his  knowledge  none  of  his 
relations  or  acquaintances  bore  the  name  of  Emanuel. 

When  her  father  asked  her  some  questions,  she  did  not  hear 
them — for  she  began,  in  the  midst  of  one  of  them,  to  speak  to  me. 
He  stepped  nearer  to  her.  When  he  stood  near  me,  she  became 
more  attentive.  "  How,  dear  father,  art  thou  here  V1  said  she. 
She  now  answered  his  questions.  I  asked  her  why  she  had  not 
observed  him  sooner.  She  replied,  "  He  stood  in  darkness — only 
near  thee  is  light.  Thou  also  shinest,  father,  but  less  brightly 
than  Emanuel,  and  only  by  reflection  from  him."  I  then  said 
that  there  were  other  persons  in  the  room  ;  she  was  silent  for 
some  time,  afterwards  named  them  all,  even  the  places  where 
they  were.  Her  eyes  were  constantly  closed,  yet  she  could  dis- 
tinctly describe  what  passed  behind  her.  Yes,  she  even  remark- 
ed the  number  of  persons  who  were  passing  in  a  gondola  in  the 
canal  before  the  palace,  and  was  not  mistaken. 

"  But  how  is  it  possible  that  you  know  this  ?  You  cannot  see 
them,"  said  I.  M  Did  she  not  inform  thee  yesterday  that  she  was 
ill  ?  That  it  was  not  the  body  which  perceives  the  internal 
world,  but  the  soul  ?  Flesh  and  blood  and  the  bony  structure  are 
only  the  shell  that  imprisons  the  noble  kernel.  The  shell  in  my 
case  is  broken,  and  the  vital  power  seeks  to  make  the  fragments 
whole,  but  cannot  do  it  without  assistance.  Therefore  the  spirit 
demands  thee.  And  the  soul,  streaming  forth  into  the  universe, 
finds  thee,  and  fills  itself  from  thy  strength.  During  her  earthly 
wakefulness,  she  sees,  hears,  feels  more  quickly,  more  vivaciously, 
but  Dnly  external  and  present  things.  Now,  however,  she  comes 
in  contact  with  things,  which  she  would,  and  yet  would  not ;  she 
does  not  touch,  she  penetrates ;  she  guesses  no  more,  she  knows. 
In  dreaming,  thou  goest  forth  to  things,  they  do  not  come  to  thee  ; 


ILLUMINATION  ;  OR,  THE  SLEEP- WAKER. 


29 


and  thou  k  no  west  them,  and  thou  know  est  why  they  do  so.  Well, 
now  it  seems  to  me  as  in  a  dream,  except  that  she  knows  that  she 
is  awake,  although  the  body  is  not  awake,  and  the  external  sensi >s 
do  not  assist  her." 

She  then  related  many  things  of  her  disease,  of  her  somnam- 
bulism, and  of  a  swoon  in  which  she  once  lay,  what  had  passed 
within  her,  what  she  thought,  etc.,  all  the  while  that  the  by-stand- 
ers  mourned  her  as  dead.  The  Count  Von  Hormegg  heard  her 
tales  with  astonishment ;  for  besides  many  circumstances  with 
which  she  was  not  acquainted,  she  touched  upon  others  which  had 
occurred  during  her  swoon,  of  some  ten  hours  duration,  that  could 
only  have  been  known  to  himself;  as,  for  instance,  how,  quitting 
her  in  utter  hopelessness,  he  had  fallen  upon  his  knees  in  his 
chamber,  and  prayed  with  all  the  agony  of  despair.  He  had  told 
this  to  no  one  ;  nobody  could  have  observed  him,  for  not  only  had 
he  bolted  his  door  at  the  time,  but  it  was  a  dark  night,  and  there 
was  no  light  in  the  room.  Now  that  Hortensia  referred  to  it,  he  did 
not  deny  the  fact.  Inconceivable  it  was,  indeed,  how  Hortensia 
could  have  known  of  this  in  her  swoon  ;  but  the  more  so,  that  she 
should  remember  it  now,  when  the  incident  had  occurred  in  her 
earliest  childhood.  She  could  then  scarcely  have  been  eight 
years  old. 

It  was  also  a  little  curious  that  she  always  spoke  of  herself  in 
the  third  person,  as  of  a  stranger,  even  when  she  referred  to  her 
own  history,  or  to  herself,  in  various  domestic  and  social  relations. 
One  time  she  said  emphatically,  "  I  am  no  Countess ;  she  is  the 
Countess:1'  and  at  another,  "I  am  not  the  daughter  of  the  Count 
Von  Hormegg,  but  she  is." 

As  her  whole  outward  being  seemed  rapt  in  an  ecstasy,  more 
serene,  exalted,  and  beautiful  than  common,  her  language  took  a 
corresponding  tone.  It  was,  though  still  as  gentle  and  soft  as  in 
her  ordinary  state,  more  solemn  ;  every  expression  being  well 
chosen,  and  very  often  highly  poetical.  Sometimes  this,  some- 
times the  lofty  range  of  her  imagination,  sometimes  that  she  spoke 
of  things  out  of  our  reach,  or  that  she  conceived  them  from  a 
point  of  view  peculiar  to  herself,  frequently  involved  her  words 
in  a  singular  obscurity,  or  often  in  complete  apparent  want  of 
congruity. 


30 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


Nevertheless,  she  spoke  readily,  and  even  liked  it,  when  she 
was  questioned,  especially  by  me.  But  at  times,  she  sunk  into  a 
quiet  and  long  thoughtfulness ;  and  we  could  then  read  in  her 
countenance  the  varying  expressions  of  successful  or  unsuccess- 
ful inquiries,  surprises,  admiration,  or  delight.  Then  she  would 
break  this  deep  silence,  from  time  to  time,  with  single  exclama- 
tions, whilst  she  whispered  "Holy  God." 

Once  she  began,  of  her  own  accord  :  "  Now  is  the  world  dif- 
ferent. It  is  a  great  one,  and  the  Eternal  One  is  a  spiritual 
Unity.  There  is  no  distinction  between  body  and  soul,  for  all 
is  soul,  and  all  may  become  body,  when  it  coalesces,  in  order  to 
be  perceived  as  individual.  The  All  is  as  if  formed  out  of  ethe- 
real vapour;  All  is  living  and  moving;  the  All  transforming 
itself,  since  it  would  unite  itself  to  the  All ;  one  thus  supports  the 
other.  There  is  an  eternal  fermentation  of  Life — a  perpetual  re- 
ciprocation between  the  too-much  and  the  too-little.  Seest  thou 
how  the  clouds  gather  out  of  the  purest  Heaven  ?  They  belly 
and  swell,  until  the  whole  mass  is  complete,  when,  attracted  by 
the  earth,  they  discharge  themselves,  and  penetrate  it  in  the  form 
of  fire  or  rain.  Seest  thou  a  flower?  A  spark  of  life  has  fallen 
amid  the  bustle  of  other  energies  ;  it  unites  itself  with  all  that 
may  be  of  service  to  it,  gives  them  form,  and  the  germ  becomes  a 
plant,  until  the  success  of  the  other,  and  external  influences,  over- 
grows and  extinguishes  its  own  vitality.  And  when  this  spark 
of  vitality  is  lost,  the  parts  fall  asunder,  because  they  have  no 
longer  a  principle  of  union.  So  it  is  in  the  formation  and 
passing  away  of  mankind."* 

She  said  much  more,  wholly  unintelligible  to  me.  Her  trance 
ended  like  the  first.  She  again  announced  correctly  the  period 
of  her  earthly  waking,  as  well  as  the  recurrence  of  a  similar 
state  the  next  day.  She  dismissed  me  as  soon  as  she  opened  her 
eyes  with  the  same  dark  looks  as  on  the  first  day. 

*  Literally,  the  Becoming  (Das  Werden)  and  the  Be-going  (Begehen)  of 
mankind. 


ILLUMINATION  ;  OR,  THE  SLEEP-WAKER. 


31 


SYMPATHY  AND  ANTIPATHY. 

Thus  it  continued,  and  always  in  the  same  way,  for  many 
months.  I  may  not  and  cannot  write  down  all  her  remarkable 
revelations.  Her  extraordinary  sickness  was  subject  only  to  in- 
significant changes,  from  which  1  could  not  affirm  that  they 
denoted  either  improvement  or  deterioration.  For,  though  she 
suffered  less  from  cramps  and  convulsions — and  while  awake 
there  was  not  the  slightest  trace  of  uncomfortable  feeling,  except 
extreme  irritability — her  unnatural  sleeps  and  trances  returned 
more  frequently,  so  that  I  was  often  summoned  two  or  three  times 
in  a  day. 

I  became  in  this  way  really  the  slave  of  the  house,  for  I  dared 
absent  myself  only  for  a  few  hours.  Any  neglect  might  bring 
on  mortal  danger.  And  I  bore  the  yoke  of  slavery  so  willingly  ! 
I  never  failed.  My  soul  trembled  with  joy,  when  the  moment 
came  that  assigned  me  to  the  beautiful  miracle.  Each  day 
invested  her  with  higher  personal  charms.  If  I  saw  her,  or 
heard  her,  but  for  one  hour,  I  had  remembrances  enough  to  feed 
on  during  my  long  solitudes.    Oh  !  the  intoxication  of  first  love ! 

Yes,  1  deny  it  not — it  was  love ;  but  I  may  truly  say,  not 
earthly,  but  celestial  love.  My  whole  being  was  bound  to  this 
Delphic  priestess,  by  some  new  art,  by  an  awe  in  which  even  the 
hope  died  of  ever  being  worthy  of  her  most  indifferent  glance. 
Had  the  Countess  endured  me  even  as  the  meanest  of  her  attend- 
ants, without  opposition,  I  should  have  thought  that  Heaven  had  in 
store  no  higher  happiness.  But  as,  in  her  ecstatic  state,  her 
kindness  toward  me  seemed  to  increase,  even  so  did  her  aversion 
increase,  as  soon  as  she  saw  me,  when  waking.  This  dislike 
grew  at  last  into  the  bitterest  abhorrence.  She  declared  this  on 
every  occasion,  and  always  with  an  air  that  was  most  irritating 
to  me.  She  daily  bade  her  father,  and  always  more  earnestly, 
to  send  me  from  the  house ;  she  conjured  him  with  capricious 
tears  ;  she  affirmed  that  I  could  do  nothing  towards  her  recovery  ; 
and  were  it  so,  all  the  good  I  could  effect  during  her  unconscious- 
ness, was  again  destroyed  by  the  vexation  my  presence  caused 
her.    She  despised  me  as  a  common  vagabond,  as  a  man  of  vile 


32 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


origin,  who  should  not  be  allowed  to  breathe  the  same  air  with 
her — to  say  nothing  of  so  intimate  a  connection  with  her,  or  such 
great  confidence  from  Count  Von  Hormegg. 

It  is  well  known  that  women,  particularly  the  pretty,  delicately- 
educated,  and  self-willed,  have  their  whims,  and  consider  it  not 
unbecoming,  if  they  sometimes  or  always  are  a  little  inconsistent. 
But  never  did  any  mortal  exhibit  more  inconsistency  than  the 
beautiful  Hortensia.  What  she  thought,  said,  or  did,  in  her 
waking  state,  she  contradicted  in  the  moments  of  her  trance.  She 
entreated  the  Count  not  to  regard  what  she  might  allege  against 
me.  She  asserted,  that  an  increase  of  her  illness  would  be  the 
infallible  consequence  of  my  leaving  the  house,  and  would  end  in 
her  death.  Me  she  begged  not  to  regard  her  humours,  but  gener- 
ously to  overlook  her  silly  conduct,  and  to  live  under  the  convic- 
tion that  she  would  certainly  improve  toward  me  as  her  disease 
abated. 

I  was,  on  the  other  hand,  as  much  astonished  as  the  others  at 
Hortensia's  extraordinary  inclination  to  me  during  her  trans- 
figured state.  She  seemed,  as  it  were,  only  through  me,  and  in 
me,  to  live.  She  guessed,  indeed,  she  knew  my  thoughts — 
especially  when  they  had  any  reference  to  her.  ]t  was  unneces- 
sary to  utter  my  little  directions  to  her  ;  she  executed  them.  In- 
credible as  it  may  be,  it  is  not  the  less  true,  that  she,  with  her 
hands,  followed  involuntarily  all  the  movements  of  mine,  as  any 
one  might  indicate.  She  declared  that  it  was  scarcely  any  longer 
essential  to  stretch  out  my  hands  toward  her,  as  at  the  commence- 
ment ;  my  presence,  my  breath,  my  mere  will  sufficed  to  her 
well-being.  She  declined  the  taste  of  any  wine  or  water,  that  I 
had  not,  as  she  said,  consecrated  by  laying  my  hands  on,  and 
made  healthful  by  the  light  streaming  from  the  ends  of  my 
fingers.  She  went  so  far  as  to  declare  my  slightest  wishes  to  be 
her  irresistible  commands.  / 

"She  has  no  free  will  anymore,"  said  she  one  day.  "So 
soon  as  she  knows  thy  will,  Emanuel,  she  is  constrained  so  to 
will.  Thy  thoughts  control  her  with  a  supernatural  power.  And 
precisely  in  this  obedience,  she  feels  her  good,  her  blessedness. 
She  cannot  otherwise.  So  soon  as  she  perceives  thy  thoughts, 
they  become  her  thoughts  and  laws." 


ILLUMINATION;  OR,  THE  SLEEP-WAKER. 


33 


"But  how  is  this  perception  of  my  thoughts  possible,  dearest 
Countess?"  said  I.  "Deny  I  cannot,  that  you  often  discern  the 
deepest  recesses  of  my  soul.  What  a  singular  sickness — which 
seems  to  make  you  omniscient !  who  would  not  wish  for  himself, 
this  state  of  perfection,  while  sickness  is  commonly  the  condition 
of  our  greatest  imperfection  ?" 

'•It  is  so  also  with  her,"  said  she.  "Deceive  not  thyself, 
Emanuel,  she  is  very  imperfect,  since  she  has  lost  the  greater 
part  of  her  self-dependence ;  she  has  lost  it  in  thee.  Shouldst 
thou  die  to-day,  thy  last  breath  would  be  her  last.  Thy  serenity 
is  her  serenity — thy  sorrow  her  sorrow." 

"  Can  you  explain  to  me  the  possibility  of  a  miracle,  that  fills 
me  with  the  greatest  astonishment,  and  remains  inexplicable  after 
all  my  reflections  ?" 

She  remained  silent  for  some  time.  After  about  seven  minutes 
she  said,  "  No  !  I  cannot  explain  it.  Has  it  not  happened  to  you 
in  dreams  of  other  persons,  that  you  seemed  to  think  their  thoughts 
in  the  same  moment  with  themselves  1  It  is  so  with  her  ;  and  yet 
the  Sick  One  lives  all  the  while  in  perfect  clearness,  and  is  con- 
scious that  she  is  awake. 

"  In  truth,"  she  continued,  "  the  I,  the  personality  is  always 
the  same.  But  that  which  unites  the  Spirit  to  the  Body  is  no 
longer  the  same.  Her  shell  is  wounded  in  that  part  with  which 
the  soul  is  first  and  most  deeply  inclosed.  Her  life  flows  out  and 
is  dissipated,  so  that  it  can  no  longer  be  bound  together  of  itself. 
Hadst  thou  not  been  found,  Emanuel,  the  patient  would  have 
already  been  in  dissolution.  But,  as  the  uprooted  plant,  whose 
strength  would  exhale  without  sustenance,  drinks  new  life  from 
the  earth,  puts  forth  branches  and  grows  green  again,  when  its 
roots  are  laid  in  a  fresh  soil — so  it  is  with  the  Sick  One.  Her 
soul  and  life,  streaming  out  into  the  universe,  finds  nourishment 
in  thy  fulness  of  life  ;  strikes  new  roots,  as  it  were,  into  thy  being, 
and  is,  through  thee,  made  whole.  She  is  like  the  flickering 
light  of  a  broken  vessel ;  yet,  the  exhausted  wick  of  her  life 
may  be  kindled  again  by  the  oil  of  thy  overflowing  lamp.  Thus, 
she  is  spiritually  rooted  in  thee,  lives  by  the  same  strength  as 
thou  dost ;  and  experiences  pleasure  and  pain,  perception,  will, 
and  even  thought,  as  thou  dost.    Thou  art  her  life,  Emanuel !" 

PART  II.  4 


34 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


The  chambermaids  could  no  more  refrain  from  a  smile  at  this 
tender  avowal,  than  could  the  Doctor. 

On  the  same  day,  said  Count  Von  Hormegg  to  me,  "  Will  you 
not,  by  way  of  a  jest,  put  your  omnipotence  over  Hortensia  to 

the  severest  proof?" 
"  And  how  ?" 

"  Desire  her,  as  a  proof  of  her  obedience,  that  she  call  you, 
when  she  is  awake,  and  make  you  a  present,  of  her  own  accord, 
of  the  most  beautiful  blooming  rose  in  her  vase  of  flowers." 

"  It  is  too  much  ;  it  would  be  rude.  You  know,  Count,  what 
an  unconquerable  aversion  she  has  to  poor  Faust,  much  as  she 
appears  to  honour  Emanuel." 

"  For  that  reason,  I  entreat  you  to  make  the  trial,  were  it 
only  to  discover  whether  your  will  is  powerful  enough  to  have  ef- 
fect out  of  the  state  of  transfiguration,  and  in  her  ordinary  state. 
No  one  shall  tell  her  what  you  intend.  Therefore  it  shall  be  ar- 
ranged, that  no  person  except  you  and  myself,  shall  be  present 
when  you  make  the  request." 

I  promised  to  obey — though,  I  confess,  rather  reluctantly. 


THE  ROSE. 

When  on  the  next  morning,  as  Hortensia  lay  in  the  slumber 
that  commonly  preceded  her  extraordinary  states, — and  I  never 
went  sooner — I  entered  her  room,  I  found  the  Count  there  alone. 
He  reminded  me,  by  a  look  and  with  laughing  eyes,  of  the  agree- 
ment we  had  made  the  day  before. 

Hortensia  passed  into  her  trance  and  instantly  began  a  friendly 
conversation.  She  assured  us  that  her  illness  had  almost  reached 
its  crisis,  and  would  afterwards  gradually  diminish,  as  might  be 
known,  by  her  perceptions  during  sleep  becoming  less  clear.  My 
embarrassment  increased  the  more  the  Count  motioned  me  to 
make  the  proposed  experiment.  She  turned  from  one  side  to  the 
other  restively,  and  with  her  brows  knit,  as  if  absorbed  in  some- 
thing passing  within  herself. 

In  order  to  divert  my  mind,  or  rather  to  gain  courage,  I  walked 


ILLUMINATION  ;  OR,  THE  SLEEP-WAKER. 


31 


silently  across  the  room,  to  the  window  where  her  flowers  were  ir 
bloom,  and  ran  my  fingers  through  the  branches  of  a  rose-bush 
In  my  negligence,  I  struck  a  thorn  pretty  deep  into  the  end  of 
my  middle  finger. 

Hortensia  uttered  a  loud  shriek.  The  Count  and  myself  hur 
ried  towards  her.  She  complained  of  a  severe  prick  on  the  en  J 
of  her  middle  finger  of  the  right  hand.  This  singular  effect  was 
one  of  the  many  sorceries  to  which,  since  my  intercourse  witu 
her,  I  had  become  accustomed.  I  thought,  in  fact,  I  could  see  a 
small  bluish  spot  on  her  finger,  and  the  next  day  a  small  sore  was 
discoverable  on  her  finger  as  well  as  on  mine,  though  mine  wg.o 
the  first  to  heal. 

"  It  is  thy  fault,  Emanuel,"  said  she  after  a  little  while  :  "thou 
hast  wounded  thyself  with  the  rose-bush.  Take  more  heed  of  thy  * 
self,  for  what  happens  to  thee,  happens  also  to  her." 

We  were  both  silent.  My  own  thoughts  were  revolving  how  t 
could  best  present  my  request.  The  wound  seemed  to  hold  out 
the  most  suitable  occasion.  The  Count  motioned  me  to  talw 
courage. 

"  Why  dost  thou  not  speak  out  ?"  said  Hortensia  :  "  request  that 
thou  mayst  be  called  at  twelve  o'clock  to-day,  before  she  dinc;s, 
that  she  may  give  thee  a  new-blown  rose." 

I  heard  my  wish  from  her  lips  with  utter  surprise,  and  said,  "  I 
feared  to  offend  you  by  my  boldness." 

"  She  knows  well  enough,  oh  Emanuel,  that  it  was  her  father 
who  suggested  the  wish  to  thee,"  she  answered  with  a  smile. 

M  At  the  same  time,  it  is  my  most  ardent  desire,"  I  stammer- 
ed ;  "  but  will  you  remember  it,  at  twelve  o'clock,  after  you  have 
awaked  ?" 

"  How  car.  she  do  otherwise  ?"  was  her  good-natured  reply. 
As  soon  as  the  conversation  on  this  subject  had  ended,  the  Count 
let  in  the  chambermaids  and  the  Doctor,  who  were  in  waiting 
without.  In  about  half  an  hour,  after  my  usual  custom,  as  soon 
as  the  ecstatic  fell  into  a  natural  sleep,  I  retired.  It  was  then 
about  ten  o'clock. 

On  awakening,  Hortensia  showed  her  wounded  finger  to  the 
Doctor.  She  imagined  that  she  had  pricked  it  with  a  needle,  and 
was  a  little  astonished  not  to  find  an  external  bruise. 


36 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


About  eleven  o'clock  she  became  uneasy,  paraded  up  and  down 
the  room,  looked  after  various  things,  began  to  converse  with  her 
maids  about  me,  as  was  her  wont,  or  rather  she  poured  out  her 
fulness  of  wrath  against  me,  and  loaded  her  father  with  reproaches 
for  not  having  sent  me  away. 

"  This  obtrusive  fellow  is  not  worthy  of  the  words  and  tears  he 
has  cost  me,"  she  said.  "  I  hardly  know  what  induces  me  to 
think  of  him  and  embitter  every  hour  with  his  hateful  image.  It 
is  already  past  endurance  that  I  know  him  to  be  in  the  same  house 
with  me,  and  that  you  respect  him  so  highly,  dearest  father.  The 
wretched  creature,  I  could  be  sworn,  has  bewitched  us  all.  But 
be  warned,  dear  father  ;  I  surely  do  not  deceive  myself,  when  I 
say  that  in  the  end  you  will  have  bitter  cause  to  repent  of  your 
kindness.  He  will  sooner  or  later  deceive  you,  as  well  as  all  the 
rest  of  us." 

"  I  beg  of  you,  my  dear  child,"  said  the  Count,  "  do  not  forever 
torment  and  weary  yourself  with  talking  of  Faust.  You  scarce- 
ly know  him.  It  is  only  twice  that  you  have  seen  him,  and 
then  for  a  moment  only  each  time.  How  are  you  authorized, 
then,  to  pass  an  adverse  judgment  upon  him  ? — Wait,  till  I 
shall  have  caught  him  in  some  unworthy  act.  Meantime,  you  be 
tranquil.    It  is  enough  that  he  must  not  come  into  your  presence." 

Hortensia  was  silent.  She  conversed  with  her  women  on  other 
topics.  Her  uneasiness  increased.  They  inquired  if  she  was 
ill  :  she  gave  no  answer  ;  but  she  began  to  weep.  In  vain  they 
strove  to  discover  the  cause  of  her  grief  and  dejection.  Hiding 
her  face  in  the  pillows  of  the  sofa,  she  requested  both  her  father 
and  the  maids  to  withdraw,  that  she  might  be  alone. 

Fifteen  minutes  before  twelve  o'clock  she  rang  the  bell.  The 
waiting-maid  was  ordered  to  let  me  know  that  I  must  come  to  her 
precisely  at  twelve.  The  invitation  surprised  me,  although  I  had 
been  anticipating  it  with  some  concern.  It  was  partly  the  nov- 
elty of  the  occasion,  and  partly  dread,  that  both  astonished  and 
embarrassed  me.  I  walked  several  times  before  the  glass  to  see 
if  my  face  betrayed  my  fears.  Then — it  struck  twelve  !  I  went 
with  a  heart  almost  beating  aloud,  and  heard  my  name  announced 
to  Hortensia. 

She  was  sitting  carelessly  upon  the  sofa,  with  her  head  lean- 


ILLUMINATION  :  OR,  THE  SLEEP-WAKER. 


37 


ing  upon  one  arm.  She  arose  from  her  seat  as  I  entered  in  very- 
obvious  displeasure.  I  declared  my  readiness  to  obey  her  com- 
mands in  a  weak,  tremulous  voice,  and  a  look  that  ought  to  have 
propitiated  her  good- will. 

She  did  not  reply.  Slowly  and  thoughtfully,  as  if  waiting  for 
words,  she  walked  past  me.  Finally,  stopping  before  me,  she 
threw  a  contemptuous  glance  towards  me,  and  said,  "  Mr.  Faust, 
I  feel  as  if  I  ought  to  persuade  you  to  leave  this  family  and  the 
service  of  my  father." 

"  Countess,"  said  I,  aroused  by  manly  pride,  "  I  have  never 
forced  myself  either  upon  the  Count  or  you.  You  are  aware  of 
the  motives  that  led  your  father  to  beg  me  to  form  part  of  his  so- 
ciety. I  consented  unwillingly  ;  but  the  sincere  goodness  of  the 
Count,  and  the  hope  of  serving  you,  forbid  me  to  obey  the  com- 
mand you  have  just  uttered,  as  painful  as  it  may  be  to  me  to  in- 
cur your  displeasure." 

Turning  her  back  upon  me,  she  played  with  a  pair  of  scissors, 
near  the  rose-bush  at  the  window.  All  at  once  she  snipped  off 
the  last-blown  rose — it  was  gracefully  as  it  was  simply  done — 
handed  it  to  me,  and  said,  "  Receive  the  best  I  have  now  at  hand  ! 
Take  it,  as  a  reward  for  having  hitherto  avoided  me  !  Take  it, 
and  never  return  !" 

This  was  said  so  hurriedly,  and  under  such  evident  embarrass- 
ment, that  I  hardly  comprehended  what  she  meant;  but  she 
threw  herself  upon  the  sofa,  and  as  I  was  about  to  make  a  reply, 
motioned  me  to  retire,  and  averted  her  face.    I  complied. 

The  moment  I  had  quitted  her,  all  her  insults  were  forgotten. 
I  hastened  to  my  chamber.  Not  the  indignant,  but  the  suffering 
Hortensia,  in  all  her  guilelessness,  floated  before  my  fancy.  I 
prized  the  rose  which  had  come  from  her  hand,  as  a  gem,  whose 
priceless  worth  all  the  crowns  in  the  world  could  not  equal.  I 
pressed  it  to  my  lips,  and  only  regretted  that  it  was  so  perishable. 
I  pondered  how  I  should  be  best  able  to  preserve  it, — to  me  the 
most  valuable  of  all  my  possessions.  I  opened  it  carefully,  and 
then  dried  it  between  the  leaves  of  a  book.  Then  it  was  enclo- 
sed in  two  round  crystal  glasses,  set  in  a  gold  frame  attached  to  a 
chain  of  the  same  metal,  that  I  might  wear  it,  as  an  amulet,  near- 
est my  heart. 


38 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


THE  BILL  OF  EXCHANGE. 

In  the  end,  this  event  became  the  occasion  of  great  inconveni- 
ence. The  dislike  of  Hortensia  showed  itself  more  decidedly 
han  ever.  In  vain  her  father,  always  too  kind,  defended  me  ! 
3is  conviction  of  my  uprightness,  and  the  aid  I  gave  him  in  the 
business  of  his  house,  no  "less  than  his  belief  that  I  was  indispen- 
sable to  the  restoration  of  his  daughter,  were  grounds  sufficient 
:o  make  him  turn  a  deaf  ear,  for  a  long  while,  to  the  whisperings 
:hat  aimed  at  my  ruin.  After  a  little,  he  was  the  only  one  in  the 
family  who  deigned  a  friendly  word  or  look.  I  observed  by  de- 
grees that  the  maids,  Doctor  Walter  himself,  and  even  the  most 
menial  domestic,  shyly  avoided  me,  and  began  to  treat  me  with  a 
marked  coldness.  From  the  trusty  Sebald,  who  alone  remained 
faithful,  I  learned  that  my  expulsion  from  the  house  was  the  ob- 
ject of  this  conduct,  and  that  the  Countess  had  vowed  that  she 
would  keep  no  one  in  her  employment  who  would  dare  to  hold 
any  intercourse  with  me.  Her  commands  were  the  more  effec- 
tual, because  while  every  one  of  them,  from  the  physician  and 
steward  down  to  the  lowest  servant,  considered  himself  fortunate 
to  be  engaged  in  so  rich  a  family,  they  regarded  me  as  no  more 
than  an  equal,  and  envied  me  the  confidence  in  which  I  stood 
with  the  Count. 

A  position  of  this  kind  promised  to  become  very  disagreeable. 
I  was  living  in  Venice,  in  one  of  the  wealthiest  houses,  more 
solitary  than  in  a  wilderness,  without  a  friend  or  companion. 
Every  step  and  motion  of  mine,  I  was  aware,  were  watched,  but 
yet  I  bore  it  with  patience.  Not  less  than  myself,  the  Count 
suffered  on  account  of  Hortensia's  whims.  He  came  to  me 
sometimes  for  consolation.  I  was  always  an  eloquent  apologist 
for  my  persecutor,  who  treated  me,  in  her  transfiguration,  with 
as  much  regard,  I  may  say  tenderness,  as  she  annoyed  me  at 
other  times  by  her  haughty  scorn  and  pride.  It  seemed  as  if 
she  was  alternately  governed  by  two  hostile  spirits ;  the  one  an 
angel  of  light,  and  the  other  a  demon  of  darkness. 

But  at  last,  when  Count  Hormegg  himself  came  to  watch  me 
and  grow  more  reserved,  my  condition  was  altogether  insupporta- 


ILLUMINATION  ;  OR,  THE  SLEEP-WAKER.  39 


ble.  It  was  only  at  a  later  period  that  I  learned  how  he  had 
been  pestered  on  all  sides  about  me  ;  especially  how  Dr.  Walter 
had  endeavoured  to  undermine  his  faith  in  me,  by  many  little 
calumnies,  and  what  a  strong  impression  one  of  Hortensia's  re- 
bukes had  made  upon  him.  She  said,  "  Are  we  all  dependent 
upon  this  stranger  ?  It  is  said  that  my  life  is  in  his  power. 
Well,  reward  him  suitably  for  any  trouble  he  may  be  at,  but 
give  him  no  more  than  he  merits.  Yet  he  is  made  familiar 
with  our  family  secrets.  Even  in  our  most  important  concerns 
we  are  at  his  mercy ;  so  that,  should  I  regain  my  health,  we 
could  not  then  send  him  away  with  impunity.  Who  will  vouch 
for  his  fidelity  ?  His  professed  disinterestedness  and  honoura- 
ble pretensions  may  one  day  cost  us  dear.  Count  Von  Hormegg 
will  become  the  slave  of  his  own  servant,  and  the  cunning  of  a 
stranger  render  him  a  despot  over  all  of  us.  Thus,  a  plebeian 
fellow  gets  to  be,  not  only  the  confidant  of  a  count,  lineally  con- 
nected with  the  most  princely  families,  but  the  major-don  10  and 
head  of  the  house." 

The  further  to  arouse  the  pride  of  the  old  Count,  his  establish- 
ment in  a  body  appear  to  have  conspired  to  execute  his  commands 
with  a  certain  reluctance  and  timidity,  as  if  they  feared  incur- 
ring my  displeasure.  A  few  even  carried  this  adroit  imperti- 
nence to  such  a  height,  as  io  inquire  openly  whether  his  wishes 
had  received  my  consent.  In  this  way  the  Count  was  gradually 
influenced  to  a  degree  of  distrust  in  himself  that  made  him  sup- 
pose he  had  overstepped  the  limits  of  prudence. 

The  more  he  strove  to  disguise  this  change  of  mind,  the  more 
I  remarked  it.  I  was  mortified.  I  had  never  sought  to  penetrate 
his  private  affairs.  They  had  been  communicated  to  me  by  him, 
from  time  to  time ;  he  had  solicited  my  advice ;  had  followed  it ; 
and  was  never  any  the  worse  off,  I  believe,  in  doing  so.  The 
care  of  his  finances  he  had  charged  me  with  of  his  own  accord ; 
by  my  means  they  had  been  extricated  from  chaotic  confusion 
and  put  in  some  order;  whilst  he  himself  had  confessed  that  he 
never  before  had  so  clear  an  understanding  of  his  own  business. 
He  had  been  placed  in  a  situation  in  which  he  could  suitably 
arrange  his  money  and  other  property.  Two  old  protracted  fam- 
ily law-suits  had  been  satisfactorily  settled  by  my  advice,  and  the 


40 


ZSCHOKKE  S  TALES. 


immediate  profits  of  the  amicable  arrangements  were  greater 
than  if  he  had  succeeded  in  his  cases.  Many  times,  too,  in  the 
overflowing  of  his  grateful  friendship,  he  would  have  forced  con- 
siderable donations  on  me,  if  I  had  not  steadily  refused  to  accept 
Ihem. 

For  several  weeks  I  put  up  with  the  dislike  and  misconstruc- 
tion of  all  ;  but  my  pride  at  last  revolted.  I  longed  to  escape 
from  a  disagreeable  position  to  which  no  one  any  longer  cared  to 
reconcile  me.  Hortensia,  who  was  the  author  of  all  the  mischief, 
alone  admonished  me,  and  that  only  in  her  extraordinary  states 
of  trance,  not  to  pay  the  least  regard  to  what  she  might  do  in  her 
waking  periods.  She  would  then  condemn  herself,  and  coax  me 
with  the  most  flattering  speeches,  as  if  in  these  moments  to  recom- 
pense me  for  the  chagrin  which  in  a  little  while  she  would  pro- 
voke, seemingly  with  redoubled  earnestness. 

One  afternoon  Count  Von  Hormegg  called  me  to  his  cabinet. 
He  requested  me  to  hand  him  his  account-books,  and  a  bill  of  ex- 
change lately  received  for  two  thousand  Louis  d'ors,  which  sum,  he 
said,  he  wished  to  deposite  in  the  Bank  of  Venice,  as  his  residence 
in  Italy  might  be  proloriged  for  the  year.  I  took  the  opportunity 
to  beg  him  to  confide  the  whole  of  the  business  with  which  he  had 
charged  me  to  some  one  else,  since  I  was  determined,  so  soon  as 
the  health  of  the  Countess  would  permit,  to  quit  his  house  and 
Venice.  Although  he  remarked  the  irritability  with  which  I 
spoke,  he  said  nothing,  except  to  request  me  not  to  neglect  his 
daughter  and  her  care;  but  as  to  what  regarded  the  other  affairs, 
he  would  willingly  release  me  from  the  burden. 

This  was  sufficient.  I  saw  he  wished  to  make  me  unnecessary 
to  him.  I  went  to  my  room  out  of  humour,  and  put  together  all 
the  papers,  as  well  those  which  he  had  not  demanded  as  those 
which  he  had.  But  I  could  not  find  the  bill  of  exchange.  I  must 
have  mislaid  it  among  some  papers.  I  had  a  dim  recollection 
that  it  was  inclosed  in  a  particular  paper,  and,  with  some  other 
things,  put  on  one  side.  My  search  was  fruitless.  The  Count, 
hitherto  accustomed  to  see  his  wishes  executed  with  the  greatest 
promptitude  by  me,  would  certainly  be  surprised  at  my  delay  this 
time.    The  next  morning  he  reminded  me  of  it  again. 

"Probably  you  have  forgotten,"  said  he,  "  that  I  asked  you  yes- 


ILLUMINATION  ;  OR,  THE  SLEEP-WAKER. 


41 


terday  for  the  account  books  and  the  bill  of  exchange."  I  prom- 
ised to  deliver  them  to  him  at  mid-day.  I  looked  through  the 
writings  leaf  by  leaf,  but  all  to  no  purpose.  Mid-day  came  ;  I 
had  not  found  the  magical  bill  of  exchange.  I  excused  myself 
to  the  Count  on  the  ground  that  I  must  have  mislaid  a  couple  of 
sheets,  a  thing  that  had  never  before  occurred.  I  had,  probably 
in  my  anxiety  and  the  haste  of  my  search,  either  overlooked  some 
or  taken  the  papers  for  others,  and  placed  them  away.  I  asked 
for  a  delay  the  next  day,  since  they  could  not  be  lost,  but  only 
mislaid.  The  Count  wore,  it  is  true,  a  discontented  expression, 
but  yet  replied,  "  There  is  time  enough  !    Do  not  hurry  yourself." 

What  time  I  could  spare  during  the  day,  I  employed  in  search- 
ing for  those  papers.  This  lasted  till  night.  The  next  morning  I 
commenced  anew.  My  anxiety  increased.  At  last  I  was  forced 
to  believe  that  the  bill  was  either  lost,  stolen,  or  perhaps,  in  a  mo- 
ment of  forgetfulness,  used  by  myself  as  worthless  paper.  Ex- 
cept my  servant,  who  could  neither  read  nor  write,  and  who  never 
had  the  key  to  my  sitting-room,  no  person  had  entered  those  apart- 
ments. The  fellow  protested  that  he  had  never  allowed  any  one 
to  enter  while  he  was  cleaning  the  room,  still  less,  had  he  ever 
touched  a  paper.  Besides  the  Count,  no  stranger  visited  me, 
since,  from  my  retired  life,  I  had  made  no  acquaintances  in 
Venice.    My  embarrassment  rose  to  a  pitch  of  almost  deadly  fear. 


THE  STRANGE  TREACHERY. 

The  same  morning,  as  I  went  to  the  Countess,  to  be  with  her 
during  her  trance,  and  render  her  the  accustomed  service,  I 
thought  I  remarked  in  the  countenance  of  the  Count  a  cold  se- 
riousness, which  spoke  more  than  words.  The  thought,  that  he 
perhaps  suspected  my  honesty  and  truth,  increased  my  uneasi- 
ness. I  stepped  towards  the  sleeping  Hortensia,  and  at  that  mo- 
ment it  struck  me,  that  perhaps  her  wonderful  gift  of  sight  might 
inform  me  where  the  papers  had  gone.  It  was  indeed  painful  to 
me  to  confess,  before  Dr.  Walter  and  the  women,  the  neglect  and 
disorder  of  which  I  seemed  to  be  guilty. 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


While  I  was  yet  struggling  with  myself  what  I  should  do,  the 
Countess  complained  of  the  insupportable  coldness  which  blew 
trom  me  towards  her,  and  which  would  cause  her  great  suffering 
if  it  did  not  cease. 

"  Thou  art  troubled  about  something.  Thy  thoughts,  thy  will, 
a  -e  not  with  her,"  said  she. 

"Dear  Countess,"  replied  I,  "it  is  no  wonder.  Perhaps  it  is 
in  your  power,  from  your  peculiar  ability  to  discover  what  is 
most  concealed,  to  restore  me  again  to  peace  of  mind.  I  have 
Last,  among  my  papers,  a  bill  of  exchange  which  belongs  to  your 
fither." 

Count  Hormegg  frowned.  Dr.  Walter  exclaimed,  "  I  beg 
you  do  not  trouble  the  Countess,  in  this  situation,  with  matters  of 
.hat  sort." 

I  was  silent ;  but  Hortensia  appeared  thoughtful,  and  said,  af- 
er  some  time,  "Thou,  Emanuel,  hast  not  lost  the  bill;  it  was 
aken  from  thee  !  Take  this  key,  open  the  closet  there  in  the 
wall.    In  my  jewel  casket  lies  the  bill." 

She  drew  out  a  little  golden  key,  handed  it  to  me,  and  pointed 
ivith  her  hand  to  the  closet.  I  sprang  towards  it.  One  of  the 
women,  called  Elenora,  jumped  in  front  of  the  closet,  and  wished 
co  prevent  the  opening  of  it.  "  Your  lordship,"  cried  she,  trem- 
bling with  terror,  to  the  Count,  "  will  not  allow  any  man  to  rum- 
mage  among  the  goods  of  the  Countess."  Ere  she  had  ended  the 
words,  I  had  pushed  her  away.  The  closet  opened,  the  casket  ex- 
posed, and  lo !  the  magical  bill  of  exchange  lay  there  on  the 
cop.  I  went  with  a  face  sparkling  with  joy  to  the  old  Count,  who 
was  speechless  and  fixed  in  astonishment.  "  Of  the  rest,  I  shall 
have  the  honour  of  speaking  to  you  hereafter,"  said  I  to  the 
Count,  and  went  back  with  a  light  heart  to  Hortensia,  to  whom  I 
gave  back  the  key. 

"  How  thou  art  changed,  Emanuel  V  cried  she,  with  a  counte- 
nance of  delight.  "  Thou  art  become  a  sun,  floating  in  a  sea  of 
rays." 

The  Count,  with  extreme  agitation,  cried,  "  Command  the 
Countess,  in  my  name,  to  say  how  she  came  by  these  papers." 

I  obeyed.  Elenora  sank  senseless  upon  a  chair.  Dr.  Walter 
hurried  to  her,  and  was  in  the  act  of  leading  her  from  the  room 


ILLUMINATION  ;  OR,  THE  SLEEP-WAKER. 


43 


as  Hortensia  began  to  speak.    The  Count  commanded  silence 
and  order  in  an  unusually  severe  tone.    No  one  dared  to  move. 

"  In  her  hatred  of  thee,  beloved  Emanuel,  the  patient  had  the 
bill  taken.  Her  malice  foresaw  the  difficulty,  and  hoped  to  in- 
duce thy  flight.  But  that  would  not  have  happened,  since  Sebald 
stood  in  a  corner  of  the  corridor,  while  Dr.  Walter,  with  a  double 
Key,  went  in  thy  chamber,  took  the  bill  which  thou  hadst  put  in 
some  letters  from  Hungary,  and  gave  it  on  going  out  to  Elenora. 
Sebald  would  have  betrayed  it  all,  so  soon  as  it  should  have  been 
known  that  some  papers  of  importance  had  been  lost.  Dr.  Wal- 
ter, who  had  seen  the  bill  of  exchange  with  thee,  made  the  propo- 
sition to  the  patient  to  purloin  it.  Elenora  offered  her  assistance. 
The  patient  herself  encouraged  them  to  do  so,  and  could  scarcely 
wait  for  the  time  when  the  papers  could  be  brought  to  her." 

Dr.  Walter  stood  quite  beside  himself,  all  this  while,  leaning  on 
Elenora's  chair ;  his  countenance  was  pallid  with  fear,  but,  shrug- 
ging his  shoulders,  he  looked  toward  the  Count  and  said  :  "  One 
may  learn  from  this  that  the  gracious  Countess  is  capable  of 
error  during  her  trances.  Wait  for  her  waking,  and  she  will 
explain  more  satisfactorily  how  the  papers  came  into  her  hands." 

Count  von  Hormegg  made  no  answer,  but  ringing  to  a  servant, 
ordered  him  to  bring  old  Sebald.    When  he  came,  he  was  asked 
whether  he  had  ever  seen  Dr.  Walter  go  into  my  room  durings*, 
my  absence. 

"  Whether  in  the  absence  of  Mr.  Faust,  I  know  not,  but,  had 
he  been  inclined,  he  might  have  done  so  last  Sunday  evening, 
since  he  unlocked  the  door.  Miss  Elenora  must  know  better  than 
I  about  it,  as  she  remained  standing  on  the  stairs  until  the  Doctor 
returned,  and  gave  her  several  papers,  whereupon  they  whispered 
together,  and  then  separated." 

Sebald  was  now  permitted  to  go  ;  and  the  Doctor,  with  the  half- 
fainting  Elenora,  were  also  compelled  to  leave,  on  a  motion  from 
the  Count.  Hortensia  appeared  more  animated  than  ever.  "  Fear 
not  the  hatred  of  the  patient,"  said  she  man}'  times;  "she  will 
watch  over  thee  like  thy  guardian  angel." 

The  consequence  of  this  memorable  morning  was,  that  Dr. 
Walter,  as  well  as  Elenora,  with  two  other  servants,  were  dis- 
missed by  the  Count,  and  sent  from  the  house  that  very  day.  As 


•4 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


for  myself,  on  the  contrary,  the  Count  came  and  begged  my  par^ 
don,  not  only  for  the  offence  of  his  daughter,  but  for  his  own  weak' 
ness  in  listening  to  the  spiteful  inuendoes  against  me,  and  half 
crediting  them.  He  embraced  me,  called  me  his  friend,  the  only 
one  which  he  had  in  the  world,  and  to  whom  he  could  open  his 
heart  with  unlimited  confidence.  He  conjured  me  not  to  forsake 
his  daughter  and  himself. 

"  I  know,"  said  he,  "  how  much  you  suffer,  and  what  sacri- 
fices you  make  on  our  account ;  but  trust  implicitly  to  my  grati- 
tude as  long  as  I  live.  Should  the  Countess  be  restored  to  perfect 
health,  you  will  certainly  have  reason  to  be  better  pleased  with 
us  than  hitherto.  Tell  me  now  !  is  there  on  earth  a  more  deso- 
late, unfortunate  man,  than  myself?  Nothing  but  hope  supports 
me  ;  and  all  my  expectations  rest  on  your  goodness,  and  the 
continuance  of  your  patience.  What  have  I  already  gone 
through  !  what  must  I  yet  endure  !  The  extraordinary  state  of 
my  daughter  often  almost  deprives  me  of  reason.  I  know  not 
whether  I  live,  or  whether  destiny  has  not  made  me  the  victim  of 
a  ghostly  tale." 

The  distress  of  the  good  Count  moved  me.  I  reconciled  my- 
self to  him,  and  even  to  my  situation,  which  was  by  no  means 
comfortable.  On  the  contrary,  the  spiteful  disposition  of  the 
Countess  weakened  the  enthusiasm  in  which  I  had  hitherto  lived 
for  her. 


FRAGMENTS  FROM  HORTENSIA's  CONVERSATIONS. 

Through  the  sedulous  and  tender  care  of  the  Count,  it  came 
to  pass  that  I  no  longer  saw  Hortensia  while  awake,  to  which  I 
had  myself  little  inclination,  and  did  not  even  learn  what  she 
thought  about  me,  although  I  might  easily  have  imagined  the 
whole  of  that.  The  most  inflexible  order  reigned  in  the  house. 
The  Count  had  resumed  his  authority.  No  one  presumed  any  more 
to  take  part  with  Hortensia,  against  either  the  "Count  or  myself, 
since  it  was  known  that  she  would  become  an  informer  against 
herself  and  all  her  accomplices. 


ILLUMINATION  ;  OR,  THE  SLEEP-WAKER.  45 


Thus,  I  never  saw  my  miraculous  beauty,  except  in  those  brief 
moments,  when,  exalted  above  herself,  she  seemed  some  being 
from  another  world.  But  these  moments  were  among  the  most 
solemn,  often  the  most  exciting  of  my  singular  life.  Hortensia's 
indescribable  personal  charms  were  heightened  by  a  mingled  ex- 
pression of  tender  innocence  and  angelic  enthusiasm.  The  strict- 
est propriety  marked  her  whole  deportment.  Truth  and  goodness 
only  were  upon  her  lips ;  and  although  her  eyes,  by  which 
generally  the  disposition  is  most  easily  betrayed,  were  closed,  we 
could  read  the  gentlest  change  of  emotion  in  the  fine  play  of  her 
features,  no  less  than  in  the  manifold  intonations  of  her  voice. 

What  she  spake  of  the  past,  the  present,  and  the  future, — so  far 
her  keen  seer-like  vision  extended, — excited  our  wonder,  some- 
times through  the  peculiarity  of  her  views,  and  sometimes  because 
of  their  incomprehensible  nature.  Concerning  the  How  ?  of  these 
things  she  could  furnish  us  no  explanation,  notwithstanding  I  at 
times  besought  it,  and  she  exerted  herself  on  that  account  in  long 
reflections.  She  knew,  by  actual  inspection,  as  she  said,  all  the 
internal  parts  of  her  body,  the  position  of  the  larger  and  smaller 
intestines,  the  bony  structure  and  the  branchings  of  the  nerves 
and  muscles ;  she  could  perceive  the  same  things  in  me,  or  any 
one  lo  whom  I  gave  my  hand.  Although  she  was  a  well- 
instructed  woman,  she  possessed  no  knowledge  of  the  structure  of 
the  human  body,  or  only  such  as  was  of  the  most  confused  and 
superficial  kind.  I  had  to  tell  her  the  names  of  many  things 
which  she  saw  and  accurately  described ;  whilst  she,  on  the 
Dther  hand,  corrected  my  representations  when  they  were  erro- 
neous. 

Chiefly  was  I  attracted  by  her  revelations  of  the  secrets  of  our 
life  ;  for  the  inexplicable  nature  of  her  own  condition  the  oftenest 
led  me  to  inquiries  upon  this  subject.  I  made  a  minute,  every 
time  I  left  her,  of  the  substance  of  her  replies,  though  it  is  proba- 
ble I  lost  much  of  what  she  furnished  me  by  means  of  unintelli- 
gible phrases  and  figures. 

I  will  not  here  detail  all  that  she  said  at  different  times, 
but  only  detached  sentences,  and  I  will  arrange  in  better  order 
what  she  revealed  concerning  many  things  that  struck  my  sym- 
pathy or  love  of  the  curious. 


46 


As  I  once  remarked  to  her  that  she  lost  much  in  not  being  able 
to  remember,  during  her  natural  waking  state,  what  she  saw, 
thought,  and  said  during  her  illuminated  states,  she  answered  : 
"  She  loses  nothing  ;  for  the  earthly  waking  is  only  a  part  of  her 
life  adapted  to  certain  specific  ends,  and  is  a  mere  narrow,  exter- 
nal existence.  But  in  the  true,  unlimited,  inward,  pure  life,  she 
is  quite  as  conscious  of  what  passes  in  that  state  as  she  is  of  what 
passes  in  her  waking  state. 

"  The  inward  pure  life  and  consciousness  proceeds,  as  with  all 
mankind,  without  interruption,  even  in  the  deepest  swoon  as  in 
the  deepest  slumber,  which  is  only  another  sort  of  swoon  excited 
by  some  other  cause.  In  sleep,  as  in  a  swoon,  the  soul  withdraws 
its  activity  from  the  external  organs  of  sense,  back  into  the  spirit. 
Man  is  conscious  of  himself,  even  when  he  seems  externally, — 
because  the  im-souled  senses  are  silent, — utterly  unconscious. 

"  When  thou  art  suddenly  aroused  into  wakefulness  from  deep 
sleep,  a  dim  remembrance  will  hover  before  thee,  as  of  something 
that  thou  thought'st  of  while  awake,  or,  as  thou  supposest,  hast 
dreamed  of ;  yet  thou  knowest  not  what  it  may  have  been.  The 
sleep- waker  is  sunk  in  the  fast  sleep  of  the  external  senses  :  he 
hears  and  sees  without  ears  or  eyes :  yet  he  is  perfectly  conscious 
of  himself,  and  considers  accurately  what  he  thinks,  speaks,  or 
undertakes,  whilst  he  remembers  just  as  accurately  whatever 
relates  to  his  ordinary  waking,  even  to  the  place  in  which  he  may 
have  stuck  a  pin. 

"  The  external  and  limited  life  may  suffer  its  interruptions  and 
pauses,  but  the  real  inward  consciousness  has  no  pauses,  and 
requires  none. 

"  The  Sick  One  is  well  aware  that  now  she  seems  more  perfcci 
to  thee,  oh  Emanuel,  but  her  spiritual  and  mental  powers  are  not 
more  exalted  or  noble  than  at  other  times,  but  are  simply  less 
constrained  and  crippled  by  the  limitations  of  the  external  senses. 
An  excellent  mechanic  works  imperfectly  with  imperfect  instru- 
ments. Even  the  most  flexible  human  language  is  gross  and  un- 
wieldy, because  it  can  neither  represent  all  the  peculiarities  of 
thought  and  feeling,  nor  the  quick  mutation  and  play  of  images, 
but  only  particular  links  in  a  continuous  and  sweeping  chain  of 
ideas. 


ILLUMINATION;  OR,  THE  SLEEP- WAKER. 


f  In  the  pure  life,  although  the  external  senses  are  inactive 
there  is  a  more  perfect  and  exact  remembrance  of  the  past,  the  . 
in  the  earthly  waking.  For  in  the  ordinary  w  aking  state,  tl.< 
universe  streams  in  through  the  open  door  of  the  perceptions  w'vh 
violent  and  almost  overwhelming  force.  It  is  on  that  account,  hs 
thou  knowest,  Emanuel,  that  during  our  natural  state,  we  set -k 
solitude  and  stillness,  and  draw  ourselves  in,  as  it  were,  from  tfae 
external  world,  wishing  to  hear  and  see  nothing,  when  we  would 
give  ourselves  up  to  deep  or  earnest  thinking.  The  further  the 
spirit  is  from  external  life,  the  nearer  it  approaches  its  pure  con- 
dition,— the  more  it  is  separated  from  sensuous  activities,  tr.e 
clearer  and  surer  it  thinks.  We  know  that  many  remarka  i 
conceptions  come  to  us  in  that  state  between  sleeping  and  wakii.^. 
when  the  gates  to  the  outward  world  are  half  closed  and  the  l.fe 
of  the  spirit  remains  undisturbed  by  foreign  influences. 

"Sleep  is  not  a  suspension  of  the  perfectly  self-conscious  lile  , 
but  the  earthly  waking  may  be  regarded  as  such  a  suspension, 
or  rather  as  a  limitation  of  the  higher  life.  For,  while  in  cu? 
waking  state,  the  activity  of  the  senses  can  manifest  itself  only  is 
prescribed  paths  and  limits,  and,  on  the  other  side,  the  charms  of 
the  external  world  absorb  us  too  exclusively, — while,  further- 
more, in  the  earthly  waking,  the  attention  of  the  spirit  is  dis- 
tracted and  drawn  to  every  external  part  for  the  preservation  of 
the  body, — the  remembrances  of  its  purer  life  vanish.  Yes, 
Emanuel,  sleep  is  peculiarly  the  full  wakefulness  of  the  spirit  ; 
the  earthly  wakefulness  is  like  a  slumber  or  torpor  of  the  spirit. 
Earthly  sleep  is  a  spiritual  going  down  of  the  sun  from  the  out 
ward  world,  but  a  clearer  rising  of  the  sun  upon  the  inwj  rd 
world. 

"  Yet,  even  amid  the  perturbations  of  the  earthly  waking,  we 
have  at  times  faint  gleams  of  another  life  that  we  have  lived,  we 
know  not  when  or  where.  So  we  see  from  the  summit  of  a  moun- 
tain, in  a  summer  night,  the  fore  or  after  shine  of  a  sun  and  a  day, 
which  exists  not  for  us,  but  which  sheds  its  effulgence  on  other 
portions  of  the  globe.  How  miraculously  swift,  often,  in  extraor- 
dinary junctures  of  events,  do  appropriate  thoughts  and  resolves 
occur  to  us  without  previous  consideration  or  reflection  !  We 
know  not  whence  they  spring.    No  dependence  can  be  discovered 


48 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


between  our  previous  ideas  and  these  sudden  and  all-controlling 
suggestions.  Men  are  accustomed  to  say,  '  it  was  a  good  Spirit 
or  Divinity  that  inspired  me  with  such  and  such  a  thought.'  At 
other  times,  we  see  and  hear  in  our  daily  routine  of  life  something 
that  appears  already  to  have  taken  place  just  in  the  same  way, 
yet  we  cannot  fathom  how,  when  or  where,  and  we  are  inclined 
to  imagine  it  some  miraculous  repetition  or  resemblance  from  the 
region  of  dreams. 

"  It  is  not, — it  is  not  extraordinary,  Emanuel,  that  our  conscious 
being  never  ends, — that,  whether  we  wake  or  sleep,  it  is  ever 
hastening  on — for  how  can  what  is  ever  cease  to  be  ?  But  won- 
derful is  the  mutation,  the  ebb  and  flow,  the  intricate  interchange 
of  life  from  the  inner  to  the  outer  and  from  the  outer  to  the  inner 
worlds. 

"  The  spirit  clothed  by  the  soul,  as  the  sun  is  by  its  world- 
penetrating  rays,  may  subsist  without  a  body,  as  the  sun  might 
without  other  heavenly  bodies.  But  these  other  worlds  would  be 
dead  without  the  sun,  and  run  loose  in  their  orbits ;  so  the  Body 
is  dust  without  the  Soul. 

"  The  body  has  its  own  life,  as  every  plant  has,  yet  natural 
vitality  can  only  first  be  awaked  by  the  spirit.  The  former  is 
regulated  and  moved  according  to  its  own  laws,  independent  of 
the  soul.  Without  our  will  or  conscience,  and  without  the  will 
or  conscience  of  the  body,  it  grows,  digests  its  food,  allows  the 
blood  to  circulate,  and  effects  its  thousand-fold  transmutations.  It 
inhales  and  exhales  breath,  and  it  takes  in  from,  and  gives  out  to, 
the  ocean  of  the  air  its  many  invisible  means  of  sustenance.  But, 
like  vegetation,  it  is  dependent  upon  the  external  matter  upon  which 
it  is  nourished.  Its  condition  changes  every  day  and  night  like 
the  condition  of  the  meanest  flower:  it  grows  and  it  decays;  and 
its  energies  consume  themselves  as  an  invisible  fire  that  ever  de- 
mands fresh  support. 

"  Only  by  an  adequate  fulness  of  its  vegetative  vitality  is  the 
body  adapted  for  an  intimate  union  with  the  soul ;  as  otherwise 
it  is  of  a  nature  heterogeneous  to  the  soul.  When  the  strength  of 
the  body  is  consumed  or  exhausted,  the  spiritual  life  withdraws 
itself  from  the  external  parts  to  the  internal.  That  we  name 
sleep,  or  the  suspension  of  the  sensuous  activity.    The  soul  enters 


ILLUMINATION  ;  OR,  THE  SLEEP-WAKER. 


49 


again  into  union  with  the  external  parts,  as  soon  as  the  powers  of 
the  vegetative  life  have  been  restored.  It  is  not  the  spirit  which 
is  fatigued  and  exhausted,  but  the  body — it  is  not  the  spirit  that 
is  made  strong  through  rest,  but  the  body.  Thus,  there  is  a  per- 
petual  ebb  and  flow,  a  streaming  back  and  forth  of  the  spiritual 
essence  within  us,  almost  simultaneously  with  the  change  of  day 
and  night. 

"  For  the  greater  part  of  our  existence  we  are  awake  external, 
ly — we  must  be — inasmuch  as  the  body  was  given  us  as  the  con- 
dition of  our  activity  on  earth.  The  body  and  its  impulses  give  a 
determinate  direction  to  our  activity.  How  great,  how  wonderful 
are  these  ordinations  of  God  ! 

"  With  age,  the  body  loses  the  ability  to  re-establish  its  vitality 
to  a  degree  sufficient  to  maintain  the  inward  union  of  all  its  parts 
with  the  soul.  The  organs,  formerly  pliant  and  flexible,  stiffen 
and  become  useless  to  the  Spirit.  The  soul  retreats  into  the  In- 
nermost. The  inward  activity  of  the  Spirit  continues  until  every- 
thing hinders  its  union  with  the  body,  which  only  takes  place 
through  the  withering  influence  of  old  age,  or  disease.  The  loos- 
ing of  the  Spirit  from  the  body  is  the  restoration  of  the  former  to 
freedom.  It  makes  itself  known  not  unfrequently  by  foresights 
the  hour  of  death,  and  other  prophetic  anticipations. 

"  The  healthier  the  body,  the  more  intimately  the  soul  enters 
into  union  with  all  its  parts,  and  the  more  perfect  the  union,  the 
less  capable  the  soul  is  of  prophecy,  except  that  in  moments  of 
extraordinary  enthusiasm  the  Spirit  seems  to  be  able  to  break  its 
fetters.    Then  it  becomes  a  seer  of  futurity. 

"  The  withdrawal  of  the  soul  from  the  external  world  gives 
rise  to  a  peculiar  phenomenon  in  nature.  It  is  Dreaming.  On 
going  to  sleep,  it  is  induced  by  a  mingling  of  the  last  impression 
on  the  senses  with  the  first  motions  of  the  free  inward  life :  and 
on  awakening,  it  gilds  the  last  ray  of  the  inner  world  with  the 
first  beams  of  the  outer  world.  It  is  hard  to  distinguish  what  prop- 
erly belongs  to  each  of  these  ;  and  dreaming  is  for  that  reason 
an  instructive  subject  to  study.  That  the  Spirit,  in  its  more  in- 
ward life,  should  occupy  itself  with  what  was  pleasing  to  it  in  its 
outward  life,  may  throw  some  light  upon  the  movements  of  the 
sleep-waker.    If  the  sleep- waker,  when  his  outward  senses  are 


50 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


again  opened,  remembers  nothing  of  what  he  did  in  his  extraordi- 
nary state,  it  will  all  come  to  him  in  his  dreams.  Thus  much  may- 
be brought  from  the  consciousness  of  the  inner  to  that  of  the  outer 
world.  The  Dream  is  the  natural  mediator  or  bridge  between 
the  inner  and  outer  life." 


CHANGES. 

These  are,  perhaps,  the  most  striking  thoughts  to  which  she 
gave  utterance,  either  of  her  own  accord,  or  under  the  prompting 
of  questions  from  us;  not  in  the  order,  it  must  be  confessed,  in 
which  they  are  here  placed,  yet  with  a  great  deal  of  fidelity  as 
to  the  manner  of  the  utterance.  It  is  out  of  my  power  to  repeat 
much  that  she  said,  since,  unconnected  with  the  circumstances 
of  the  conversation,  it  would  lose  the  subtlety  of  meaning  that  it 
often  possessed.    And  some  of  it  was  wholly  unintelligible. 

It  was  an  oversight  of  mine,  too,  that  I  failed  to  lead  her  mind 
back  when  in  the  proper  mood  to  the  consideration  of  the  things 
that  were  obscure  to  me.  For  I  had  soon  observed  that  she  did 
not  see  and  speak  with  equal  clearness  during  all  her  different 
states  of  illumination  :  that  she  gradually  began  to  weary  of  con- 
versation on  these  topics,  and  finally,  ceased  from  it  altogether, 
speaking  almost  exclusively  of  her  domestic  affairs  and  the  con- 
dition of  her  health.  The  latter,  she  repeatedly  assured  us,  was 
growing  better,  although,  for  a  long  while,  we  could  discover  no 
signs  of  the  amendment.  She  continued,  as  before,  to  prescribe 
what  she  ought  to  eat  and  drink  while  awake,  and  what  in  other 
respects  would  be  good  or  hurtful  for  her.  To  every  kind  of  drug 
she  manifested  strong  aversion,  whilst,  on  the  other  hand,  she  re- 
quired a  cold-bath  every  day,  which  in  the  end  was  followed  by 
s^a- baths.  With  the  approach  of  spring-time,  her  trances  be- 
came shorter. 

But  this  is  by  no  means  the  place  for  me  to  give  the  details  of 
Hortensia's  illness ;  so,  let  me  state  in  brief,  that  in  seven  months 
after  my  advent,  she  was  sufficiently  recovered  to  enable  her,  not 
only  to  receive  the  visits  of  strangers,  but  to  reciprocate  them, 


ILLUMINATION  ;  OR,  THE  SLEEP- WAKER.  51 

and  even"  to  go  to  balls,  to  the  theatre,  and  to  church,  though  only 
for  a  little  while  at  a  time.  The  Count  was  quite  out  of  his  head 
with  joy.  His  daughter  was  oppressed  with  the  richest  presents, 
while  he  led  her  a  round  of  the  most  diverting  and  expensive  en- 
tertainments. Related  to  some  of  the  best  families  of  Venice, 
and  on  account  of  his  wealth,  no  less  than  the  charms  of  his 
daughter,  courted  by  all,  their  daily  life  seemed  to  be  hardly  less 
than  one  continuous  festival. 

Made  sad  by  the  affliction  of  Hortensia,  and  kept  in  a  state  of 
constant  anxiety  and  vigilance  by  the  wonderful  phenomena  con- 
nected with  it,  he  had  hitherto  lived  the  life  of  a  recluse.  His 
intercourse  with  mankind  had  been  almost  confined  to  myself, 
whilst  his  want  of  firmness,  coupled  with  my  influence  over  Hor- 
tensia and  the  half-superstitious  respect  for  my  person  it  had  in- 
spired, had  allowed  him  to  be  readily  governed  by  my  directions. 
In  fact,  he  submitted  to  me  almost  implicitly,  and  obeyed  my 
wishes  with  a  subservience  that  was  disagreeable,  though  I  never 
abused  my  power. 

Now  he  changed  his  position  towards  me,  as  soon  as  the  recov- 
ery of  Hortensia,  and  a  mind  free  from  care,  vouchsafed  the  long- 
postponed  enjoyment  of  a  round  of  brilliant  pleasures.  True,  I  still 
kept  possession  of  the  management  of  his  affairs,  which  he  had  for- 
merly relinquished  to  me  either  in  excessive  confidence  or  for  con- 
venience sake ;  but  he  wished  that  I  should  conduct  his  business 
under  some  name  or  other,  whilst  in  his  service.  Then,  as  I  con- 
firmed my  resolution,  not  to  become  a  recipient  of  his  bounty,  in 
any  way,  but  remain  steadfast  to  the  original  terms  under  which 
I  had  engaged,  he  seemed  to  make  a  virtue  of  the  necessity.  He 
gave  me  out  to  the  Venitians  as  a  friend  ;  yet  his  pride  would 
not  allow  his  friend  to  be  a  mere  commoner ;  and  so  he  reported 
me  everywhere  as  a  scion  of  the  best  and  purest  German  nobility. 
At  the  outset  1  strove  against  this  lie,  but  was  forced  to  give  in  to 
the  entreaties  of  his  weakness.  Thus  I  shone  in  the  circles  of  the 
Venitians,  none  of  which  dared  to  repulse  me.  True,  the  Count 
still  remained  my  friend,  as  formerly ;  but  not  so  much  as  for- 
merly, since  I  was  no  longer  his  only  one.  We  lived  no  more, 
as  once,  exclusively  with  and  for  each  other. 

But  more  worthy  of  remark  was  the  transformation  of  Hor- 


52 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


tensia  as  she  grew  better.  In  her  moments  of  trance,  as  ever, 
she  was  most  gracious;  but  her  hatred  and  repugnance,  du- 
ring the  rest  of  the  day,  seemed  gradually  to  vanish.  Through  the 
warnings  of  her  father,  probably,  or  moved  by  her  own  feelings  of 
gratitude,  she  constrained  herself  from  offending  me  either  by 
look  or  word.  It  was  granted  me,  from  time  to  time,  though  only 
for  a  few  moments,  to  pay  a  most  respectful  visit  to  her,  as  an 
inmate  of  the  house,  a  friend  of  the  Count's,  a  veritable  physician. 
I  could,  before  long,  even  without  incurring  the  danger  of  arous- 
ing her  wrath,  betake  myself  to  the  companies  where  she  was. 
Yes,  so  far  did  she  carry  this  constraint  or  habit,  that  she  could 
suffer  me  with  indifference  at  the  same  table  with  her,  when  the 
Count  ate  alone  or  gave  a  dinner-party.  But  I  always  saw  her 
pride  gleaming  through  her  condescension,  and  beyond  what  de- 
cency and  ordinary  politeness  demanded,  I  seldom  got  a  word 
from  her. 

As  to  myself,  though  I  felt  more  comfortable  on  account  of  my 
greater  freedom,  my  life  was,  after  all,  but  half  enjoyed.  The 
diversions  into  which  I  was  attracted,  pleased  me,  without  adding 
to  my  contentment.  I  longed  often,  in  the  midst  of  the  whirl,  for 
a  solitude,  which  was  better  adapted  to  me.  It  was  also  an  un- 
alterable determination  of  mine,  to  recover  my  former  state  of 
freedom  as  soon  as  the  restoration  of  the  Countess  should  be  com- 
pleted. I  longed  intensely  for  that  moment  to  arrive.  For  I  felt 
but  too  deeply,  that  the  passion  with  which  the  beauty  of  Horten- 
sia  had  inflamed  me,  might  become  my  misery.  I  had  battled 
against  it,  and  the  pride,  as  well  as  the  aversion  of  Hortensia, 
had  lightened  the  struggle.  Against  her  pride  of  birth,  as  a  noble, 
I  had  set  my  self-respect  as  a  citizen,  and  to  her  wicked  perse- 
cutions, the  consciousness  of  my  innocence  and  her  ingratitude. 
Were  there  moments,  in  which  the  grace  of  her  person  impressed 
me — and  who  could  remain  unmoved  by  so  many  charms  ? — there 
were  many  other  moments  in  which  her  offensive  deportment  in- 
spired the  deepest  aversion.  It  filled  my  heart  with  a  bitterness 
fast  verging  upon  positive  hatred.  Her  indifference  towards  me 
was  as  strong  a  proof  of  the  thanklessness  of  her  unimpressible 
disposition  as  her  former  repugnance.  I  avoided  Hortensia  in 
the  end  more  vigilantly  than  she  did  me,  and,  let  her  look  at  me 


ILLUMINATION  ;  OK,  THE  SLEEP- WAKER. 


53 


with  never  so  much  indifference,  she  must  have  seen,  in  my  whole 
treatment  of  her,  how  great  was  my  contempt 

Thus  had  the  relations  between  us  all  been  gradually,  and 
strangely  enough,  changed  during  Hortensia's  recovery.  I  had 
no  deeper  wish  than  to  be  speedily  released  from  obligations 
which  gave  me  little  joy,  and  no  better  consolation,  than  that  the 
moment  that  Hortensia  should  be  perfectly  restored,  would  render 
my  person  superfluous. 


PRINCE  CARLO. 

Among  those  who  were  bound  the  most  intimately  to  us  in 
Venice,  was  a  young  and  wealthy  man,  who  received  the  title  of 
Prince  from  one  of  the  leading  Italian  families.  I  will  call  him 
Carlo.  He  was  of  agreeable  form,  and  fine  manners,  intellectual, 
facile,  and  captivating.  The  restlessness  of  his  features,  and  the 
fiery  gleam  of  his  eye,  betrayed  an  excitable  disposition.  He 
maintained  an  extravagant  style,  and  was  more  vain  than  proud. 
He  had  once  passed  some  time  in  the  military  service  of  France. 
Weary  of  that,  he  was  minded  to  visit  the  most  attractive  cities 
and  courts  of  Europe.  A  chance  acquaintance  which  he  hap- 
pened to  form  with  Count  Von  Hormegg,  fixed  him  longer,  than  lay 
in  his  original  plan,  at  Venice.  For  he  had  seen  Hortensia,  and 
enlisted  himself  in  the  multitude  of  her  worshippers.  Soon  he 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  every  thing  else  in  the  conquest  of  her. 

His  rank,  his  wealth,  his  countless  and  splendid  retinue,  and 
his  pleasing  exterior,  flattered  Hortensia's  pride  and  self-love. 
Without  distinguishing  him  from  the  others  by  any  special 
favour,  she  gladly  saw  him  in  her  train.  A  single  confidential, 
friendly  look,  was  sufficient  to  raise  the  boldest  hopes  in  him. 

The  old  Count  Von  Hormegg,  no  less  flattered  by  the  Prince's 
solicitations,  met  them  half  way,  preferred  him  over  all,  and  soon 
changed  a  mere  acquaintance  into  a  hearty  commerce.  I  doubt- 
ed not  for  a  moment  that  the  Count  had  in  his  own  mind  elected 
the  Prince  for  his  son-in-law.    Only  Hortensia's  sickness,  and  a 


54 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


fear  of  her  freaks,  appeared  to  prevent  both  the  father  and  lover 
from  more  open  declarations. 

The  Prince,  in  confidential  conversations  with  the  Count,  had 
heard  of  Hortensia's  illuminations.  He  was  inflamed  with  a 
curiosity  to  see  her  in  her  extraordinary  state  ;  and  the  Countess, 
who  well  knew  that  this  state  was  far  from  being  disadvantageous 
to  her,  gave  him,  what  she  had  hitherto  denied  to  every  stranger, 
permission  to  be  present  during  such  an  hour. 

He  came  one  afternoon  when  we  knew  Hortensia  was  about 
to  sink  into  this  remarkable  sleep;  for  she  always  announced  it 
in  the  preceding  trance.  I  cannot  deny  that  I  felt  a  slight  touch 
of  jealousy  as  the  Prince  entered  the  room.  Hitherto  I  had  been 
the  happy  one  to  whom  the  Countess,  in  her  wonderful  exaltations, 
had  chiefly  shown  her  grace  and  beauty. 

Carlo  approached  lightly  over  the  soft  carpet,  moving  on  tip-toe. 
He  believed  that  she  really  slumbered,  as  her  eyes  were  closed. 
Trepidation  and  delight  were  expressed  in  his  features,  as  he 
gazed  on  the  charming  figure,  which  showed  something  beyond 
the  reach  of  art  in  all  its  fine  proportions. 

Hortensia  at  length  began  to  speak.  She  conversed  with  me 
in  her  usual  affectionate  expressions.  I  was  again,  as  ever,  her 
Emanuel,  whose  will  and  thoughts  governed  her  whole  being;  a 
language  which  sounded  not  very  agreeably  to  the  Prince,  and 
which  to  me  had  never  been  flattering.  Hortensia,  however, 
appeared  to  become  restless  and  anxious.  She  asserted  several 
times  that  she  felt  pain,  though  she  could  not  tell  on  what  account. 
I  motioned  to  the  Prince  that  he  should  extend  me  his  hand. 
Scarcely  had  he  done  so,  than  Hortensia,  shuddering  violently, 
cried  out,  "  How  cold  !  Away  with  that  goat  there!  He  offends 
me !"  She  was  seized  with  convulsions,  which  she  had  not  had 
for  a  long  time.  Carlo  was  obliged  hastily  to  leave  the  room. 
He  was  quite  beside  himself  with  terror.  After  some  time,  Hor- 
tensia recovered  from  her  cramps.  "  Never  bring  that  impure 
creature  to  me  again,"  said  she. 

This  accident,  which  even  alarmed  me,  produced  unpleasant 
effects.  The  Prince  regarded  me  from  this  moment  as  his  rival, 
and  conceived  a  great  hatred  toward  me.  The  Count  Von  Hor- 
megg,  who  allowed  himself  to  be  entirely  led  by  him,  appeared  to 


ILLUMINATION  ;  OR,  THE  SLEEP-WAKER. 


55 


become  suspicious  of  Hortensia's  feelings.  The  mere  thought  that 
the  inclination  of  the  Countess  might  turn  to  me,  was  insupportable 
to  his  pride.  Both  the  Prince  and  Count  concurring  more  firmly 
among  themselves,  kept  me  at  a  greater  distance  from  the  Count- 
ess, except  during  the  time  of  her  miraculous  sleeps  ;  agreed 
upon  the  marriage,  and  the  Count  . opened  the  wishes  of  the  Prince 
to  his  daughter.  She,  although  flattered  by  the  attentions  of  the 
Prince,  demanded  permission  to  reserve  her  declaration  till  the 
complete  restoration  of  her  health.  Carlo,  in  the  meanwhile,  was 
generally  regarded  as  the  betrothed  of  the  Countess.  He  was  her 
constant  attendant,  and  she  was  the  queen  of  all  his  fetes. 

I  soon  remarked  that  I  began  to  be  superfluous — that  with  Hor- 
tensia's recovery  I  had  sunk  into  my  original  nothingness.  My 
former  discontent  returned,  and  nothing  made  my  situation  sup- 
portable, but  that  Hortensia,  not  only  in  her  transfigurations,  but 
soon,  also,  when  out  of  them,  did  me  justice.  Not  only  was  her 
old  aversion  toward  me  gone  over  into  indifference,  but  in  the 
same  degree  as  her  bodily  health  returned,  this  indifference 
changed  itself  into  a  considerate,  deferential  respect ;  to  an  affable 
friendliness,  such  as  one  is  accustomed  to  from  the  higher  to  the 
lower,  or  toward  persons  whom  one  sees  daily,  who  belong  to  the 
household,  and  to  whom  one  feels  indebted  for  the  services  they 
perform.  She  treated  me  as  if  I  were  really  her  physician, — 
willingly  asked  my  advice,  my  permission,  when  it  concerned  any 
enjoyment  or  pleasure  ;  fulfilled  punctually  my  directions,  and 
could  conquer  herself  to  sueh  a  degree  as  to  leave  the  dance  so 
soon  as  the  hour  arrived  which  I  had  fixed  for  her.  It  came 
to  me  sometimes,  as  if  the  influence  of  my  will  had  in  part  passed 
over  to  her  waking  state,  since  it  began  to  act  more  weakly  over 
her  soul  during  her  illuminations. 


THE  DREAMS. 

Thus  Hortensia's  pride,  obstinacy,  and  ill-humour,  passed  grad- 
ually away  like  evil  spirits.  Almost  as  amiable  in  her  deport- 
ment, as  during  the  time  of  her  raptures,  she  fettered  me  no 


56 


ZSCHOKKE  S  TALES. 


less  by  her  external  beauty,  than  by  her  love,  patience,  and 
grateful  kindness. 

All  this  made  my  misery.  How  could  I,  daily  witness  of  so* 
many  perfections,  remain  indifferent  ?  I  wished  most  earnestly 
that  she  might,  as  of  old,  despise,  wound,  and  persecute  me,  that 
I  might  the  more  easily  separate  from  her,  and  be  able  to  despise 
her  in  return.  But  that  was  now  impossible.  I  again  adored  her. 
I  pined  away  in  my  passion,  silently  and  without  hope.  I  knew 
beforehand,  that  my  future  separation  from  her  would  lead  me  to 
the  grave.  What  made  my  situation  worse,  was  a  dream,  in  which 
I  from  time  to  time  had  seen  Hortensia,  always  in  the  same  or  a 
similar  form.  Now  I  was  sitting  in  a  strange  room,  then  in  a 
grotto  made  by  pendent  rocks,  again  on  the  moss-grown  trunk  of 
an  oak,  in  some  perfect  solitude,  but  always  in  a  deeply-agitated 
state  of  mind.  Hortensia  would  come,  gaze  at  me  with  looks  of 
heartfelt  pity,  and  say,  "  Dear  Faust,  why  so  melancholy  ?" 
This  would  awaken  me  every  time  ;  for  the  tone  in  which  she 
spoke  thrilled  to  my  inmost  soul.  Through  the  whole  day,  too, 
this  tone  haunted  me.  In  the  whirl  of  the  city,  in  the  presence 
of  company,  in  the  gondolier's  song,  at  the  opera, — wherever  I 
was — it  was  heard.  Sometimes  at  night,  I  would  start  suddenly 
from  this  dream,  just  as  the  lips  of  Hortensia  moved  to  express 
the  usual  question,  and  imagine  that  the  sound  was  actually 
without  me.  True,  a  dream,  in  any  ordinary  condition  of  things, 
is  nothing  but  a  dream,  but  in  the  enchanted  circle  in  which 
destiny  had  thrust  me,  even  dreams  were  not  to  be  lightly  dis- 
regarded. 

One  day,  as  I  was  putting  the  papers  of  Count  Von  Hormegg 
to  rights  in  his  room,  having  given  him  some  letters  to  be  signed, 
he  was  called  out  to  receive  a  Venitian  of  some  distinction,  that 
came  to  visit  him.  I  supposed  he  would  come  back  in  a  moment, 
and  threw  myself  in  a  chair,  where  I  relapsed  into  my  customary 
sadness.  Musing  thus,  I  heard  the  sound  of  footsteps.  The 
Countess,  in  search  of  her  father,  had  approached  me.  1  trembled, 
hardly  knowing  why,  and  rose  to  greet  her.  "  Why  so  melan- 
choly, dear  Faust  V  said  she,  in  a  voice  of  singular  tenderness, 
that  animated  my  whole  being,  and  with  the  same  tone  that  had 
so  often  and  touchingly  been  re-echoed  through  my  dreams.  She 


ILLUMINATION  ;  OR,  THE  SLEEP- WAKER. 


5. 


smiled,  as  if  astonished  or  surprised  at  her  own  inquiry,  and 
passing  her  hand  thoughtfully  across  her  brow,  said  after  a  pause, 
"  How  is  this  ?  It  seems  to  me  that  I  have  been  in  precisely  this 
condition  before,  though  it's  very  odd.  Some  time  or  other  I  must 
have  seen  you,  just  as  you  are  now,  in  a  dream  perhaps,  and 
asked  you  the  same  question.    Isn't  it  altogether  queer  Vs 

"  Not  more  so  than  what  I  have  experienced  in  the  same  way," 
said  I,  "  for  not  one  time,  but  several  times,  I  have  dreamed  that 
you  came  to  me,  as  you  have  done  now,  and  asked  me  the  same 
question  in  the  very  words." 

Count  Von  Hormegg  returning,  broke  off  our  brief  interview. 
But  the  event,  trifling  as  it  was,  became  a  source  of  profound 
reflection,  yet  my  gropings  after  the  truth  were  in  vain,  to  recon- 
cile the  workings  of  the  imagination  with  the  reality.  She  had 
dreamed  the  same  thing  that  I  had,  and  the  same  had  been  accom- 
plished in  actual  life  ! 

But  this  fairy- work  did  not  for  some  time  come  to  an  end. 
Five  days  after  this  incident,  the  god  of  sleep  juggled  with  me 
again,  to  the  effect  that  I  would  be  invited  to  a  festival.  It  was 
a  great  feast  and  dance.  The  music  made  me  sad  ;  I  remained  a 
lonely  spectator.  From  the  whirl  of  the  dancing,  Hortensia  came 
suddenly  to  me,  and  pressing  my  hand  affectionately  and  secretly, 
lisped,  "  Be  cheerful,  Faustino,  or  I  cannot  be,"  and  then  regard- 
ing me  with  a  look  full  of  compassionate  tenderness,  lost  herself 
again  in  the  throng. 

Count  Von  Hormegg  the  next  day  made  up  a  pleasure  jaunt  to 
the  country  seat  of  one  of  the  Venitians.  I  was  to  accompany 
him.  On  the  way  he  told  me  that  the  Countess  would  also  be 
there.  When  we  arrived  we  found  a  large  assembly.  In  the 
evening  there  was  a  display  of  fireworks,  and  then  a  dance.  The 
Prince  opened  the  ball  with  Hortensia — and  as  I  looked  at  the 
noble  pair,  it  went  through  me  like  a  dagger.  I  lost  all  desire 
to  participate  in  the  dance.  But  in  order  to  forget  myself,  I 
selected  a  partner  and  mingled  in  the  beautiful  waving  groups. 
But  it  seemed  to  me  that  lead  hung  upon  my  feet,  and  I  rejoiced 
when  I  could  slip  from  the  crowd.  Leaning  upon  the  door,  I 
gazed  at  the  dancers — no,  not  at  them,  but  at  Hortensia,  who 
hovered  among  the  rest  like  a  goddess. 


58 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


At  that  moment  I  recalled  the  dream  of  the  past  night ;  at 
that  moment  a  dance  was  coming  to  an  end  ;  at  that  moment 
Hortensia  stepped  towards  me,  glowing  with  joy,  yet  coyly, 
pressed  my  hand  with  a  fugitive  affection,  and  whispered,  "  Be 
cheerful,  Faustino,  or  I  cannot  be."  She  said  it  with  such  sym- 
pathy, so  friendly,  and  with  a  glance  from  her  eyes — such  a 
glance — I  lost  all  sense  and  speech.  Hortensia,  before  I  could 
recover  myself,  had  already  vanished.  She  was  sweeping  once 
more  through  the  ranks  of  the  dancers :  but  her  eyes  ever  and 
anon  sought  mine,  and  her  look  was  constantly  towards  me.  It 
seemed  as  if  she  had  taken  a  whim  to  wrest  from  me  by  her 
attentiveness  what  little  of  understanding  I  had  left.  At  the 
close  of  the  dances,  the  couples  separated  from  each  other,  and  I 
left  my  place  to  look  out  another  in  the  hall,  to  see  if  I  had 
deluded  myself,  or  whether  the  looks  of  the  Countess  would  fol- 
low me. 

Already  new  couples  were  gathered  for  the  dance,  when  I 
passed  near  the  sitting-place  of  the  women.  One  of  them  rose 
the  very  moment  I  approached  ;  it  was  the  Countess.  Her  arm 
lay  in  mine.  We  entered  the  circle.  I  trembled,  and  scarcely 
knew  what  was  going  on  ;  for  never  before  had  I  had  the  auda- 
city to  request  Hortensia  to  dance  with  me,  and  yet  it  seemed  to 
me  that  I  must  now  have  done  so  in  my  distraction.  But  she  was 
unembarrassed,  scarcely  regarded  me,  and  penetrated  the  showy 
tumult  with  her  brilliant  looks.  In  a  moment  the  music  struck 
up.  I  seemed  released  from  every  earthly  bond,  to  hover  like  a 
spirit  on  the  waves  of  sound.  I  was  unconscious  of  all  about  me, 
— knew  not  that  we  fastened  the  attention  of  every  spectator. 
What  cared  I  for  the  admiration  of  the  world  ?  At  the  ending 
of  the  third  dance,  I  led  the  Countess  to  a  settee,  that  she  might 
rest.  I  stammered  my  thanks  with  trepidation.  She  acknow- 
ledged them  with  mere  friendly  courtesy,  as  to  the  greatest 
stranger.    I  withdrew  among  the  spectators. 

The  Prince,  as  well  as  Count  Von  Hormegg,  had  seen  me 
dance  with  Hortensia, — had  heard  the  general  murmurs  of  ap- 
plause. The  former  burned  with  jealousy,  and  did  not  even 
conceal  it  from  Hortensia.  The  Count  took  my  boldness,  in 
asking  his  daughter  to  dance,  in  bad  part,  and  on  the  following 


ILLUMINATION  ;  OR,  THE  SLEEP- WAKER. 


59 


day  rebuked  me  for  having  so  lightly  forgotten  her  rank.  Both 
confessed,  with  all  the  rest  of  the  world,  that  her  dancing  had 
been  full  of  soul  and.  passionateness.  Neither  doubted  that  I  had 
infused  an  unworthy  inclination  into  the  Countess.  In  spite  of 
their  plausibilities,  I  soon  saw  clearly,  that  I  was  an  obstacle 
of  hate  and  fear.  I  was  much  seldomcr.  and  at  last  not  at  all, 
invited  to  companies  where  Hortensia  might  be  present. 

In  the  mean  time,  both  went  really  too  far  in  their  carefulness. 
It  is  true,  the  Countess  did  not  conceal  that  she  cherished  a  feel- 
ing of  gratitude  towards  me  ;  but  everything  further  was  a 
reproach  which  she  repelled.  She  confessed  that  she  prized  me, 
but.  beyond  that,  it  was  all  one  to  her  whether  I  danced  at  Con- 
stantinople or  Venice. 


THE  AMULEl. 

The  Count  and  Carlos  eagerly  awaited  this  moment  to  get  rid 
of  me,  and  accomplish  the  marriage  of  Hortensia.  Hortensia 
looked  for  it  Avith  impatience,  in  order  to  rejoice  over  her  own  re- 
covery, and  at  the  same  time  to  quiet  the  suspicions  of  her  father. 
I  also  expected  it  with  no  less  eagerness.  It  was  only  far  from 
Hortensia,  amid  new  scenes,  and  other  occupations,  that  I  could 
hope  to  heal  my  mind.    I  felt  myself  miserable. 

The  Countess  one  day  announced  not  unexpectedly,  as  she  lay 
in  her  strange  sleep,  the  near  approach  of  her  restoration. 

"  In  the  vapour  baths  of  Battaglia,"  said  she,  "  she  will  entirely 
lose  the  gift  of  illumination.  Take  her  there.  Her  cure  is  no 
longer  distant.  Every  morning,  immediately  on  waking,  one  bath. 
After  the  tenth,  Emanuel,  she  separates  from  thee.  She  sees  thee 
never  again,  if  such  is  thy  will ;  but  leave  her  a  token  of  thy 
remembrance.  She  cannot  be  healthy  without  it.  For  a  long 
time,  thou  hast  worn  in  thy  breast  a  dried  rose,  preserved  between 
glasses,  and  set  in  gold.  So  long  as  she  wears  this,  inclosed  in 
silk,  immediately  about  the  region  of  the  heart,  she  will  not  again 
fall  into  her  fits.    Neither  later  nor  earlier  than  the  seventh  hour 


60 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


after  receiving  the  thirteenth  bath,  give  it  to  her.  Wear  it  con- 
stantly till  then.    She  will  then  be  restored." 

She  repeated  this  request  frequently,  and  with  peculiar  serious- 
ness ;  she  laid  particular  stress  upon  the  hour  when  I  should  de- 
liver up  to  her  my  only  jewel,  and  of  whose  existence  she  had 
never  heard. 

"Do  you  really  wear  any  such  thing?"  asked  the  Count,  as 
tonished,  and  highly  delighted  on  account  of  the  predicted  resto- 
ration of  his  daughter.  As  I  answered,  he  asked  further,  if  I  set 
any  particular  value  upon  the  possession  of  this  trifle.  I  assured 
him  it  was  priceless,  and  that  I  would  rather  die  than  have  it 
taken  from  me — nevertheless,  for  the  preservation  of  the  Countess, 
I  would  sacrifice  it. 

"  Probably  a  memorial  of  some  beloved  hand '?"  observed  the 
Count,  laughing,  and  in  an  inquiring  manner,  to  whom  it  seemed 
a  good  opportunity  to  learn  whether  my  heart  had  already  been 
engaged. 

"  It  comes,"  I  replied,  "  from  a  person  who  is  very  dear  to 
me." 

The  Count  was  as  much  moved  by  my  generosity,  as  pleased 
that  I  was  willing  to  make  the  sacrifice  on  which  Hortensia's 
continued  health  depended — and  forgetting  his  secret  grudge,  cor- 
dially embraced  me,  which  had  not  happened  for  a  long  time. 

"You  make  me  your  debtor,"  said  he. 

He  was  anxious  to  relate  to  Hortensia,  as  soon  as  I  had  gone, 
on  her  waking,  what  she  had  desired  in  her  trance  :  he,  more- 
over, did  not  conceal  from  her  his  conversation  with  me  on  the 
subject  of  the  amulet,  which  had  so  great  a  value  in  my  eyes, 
since  it  was  the  memorial  of  a  person  that  I  loved  above  all. 
He  laid  great  stress  on  this,  as  his  suspicion  still  remained,  and, 
in  case  Hortensia  really  felt  any  inclination  for  me,  to  destroy  it, 
by  the  discovery  that  I,  for  a  long  time,  had  sighed  in  the  chains 
of  another  beauty.  Hortensia  listened  to  it  all  with  such  innocent  un- 
concern, and  so  sincerely  congratulated  herself  upon  her  approach- 
ing recovery,  that  the  Count  felt  he  had  done  injustice  to  the  heart 
of  his  daughter  by  his  suspicions.  In  the  joy  of  his  heart,  he  was 
eager  to  confess  to  me  his  conversation  with  his  daughter,  and  at 
the  same  time  to  mention  to  the  Prince  all  that  had  passed.  From 


ILLUMINATION  ;  OR,  THE  SLEEP-WAKER. 


61 


that  hour  I  remarked,  both  in  the  manner  of  the  Count  and 
Prince,  something  unconstrained,  kind  and  obliging.  They  kept 
me  no  longer,  with  their  former  care,  at  a  distance  from  Horten- 
sia ;  but  treated  me  with  the  attention  and  forbearance  due  to  a 
benefactor,  to  whom  they  were  indebted  for  the  happiness  of  their 
whole  life.  Arrangements  were  immediately  made  for  our  jour- 
ney to  the  baths  of  Battaglia.  We  left  Venice  on  a  beautiful 
summer  morning.  The  Prince  had  gone  before,  in  order  to  pre- 
pare everything  for  the  reception  of  his  intended  bride. 

Through  the  pleasant  plains  of  Padua  we  approached  the 
Euganean  mountains,  at  the  foot  of  which  lay  the  healing 
spring.  On  the  way  the  Countess  often  liked  to  walk  ;  then  I 
was  always  her  escort.  Her  cordiality  charmed  me  as  much  as 
her  tender  sense  of  the  noble  in  human  character,  and  of  the 
beautiful  in  nature.  "  I  could  be  very  happy,"  she  often  said, 
"  if  I  could  pass  my  days  in  any  one  of  these  beautiful  Italian 
regions,  amid  the  simple  occupations  of  domestic  life.  The 
amusements  of  the  city  leave  the  feelings  vacant — they  are  more 
irksome  than  pleasing.  How  happy  could  I  be  if  I  might  live 
simply,  unprovoked  by  the  miseries  of  the  palace,  where  one 
vexes  one's  self  about  nothing  ;  sufficiently  rich  to  make  others 
happy,  and  in  my  own  creations  find  the  source  of  my  happiness  ! 
Yet  one  must  not  desire  everything." 

More  than  once,  and  in  the  presence  of  her  father,  she  spoke  of 
her  great  obligations  to  me,  as  the  preserver  of  her  life.  "  If  I 
only  knew  how  to  repay  it!"  said  she.  "  I  have  for  a  long  time 
racked  my  brains  to  discover  something  pleasing  for  you.  You 
must,  indeed,  permit  my  father  to  place  you  in  a  situation  which 
will  enable  you  to  live  quite  independent  of  others.  But  that  is 
the  least  return.  I  need  for  myself  some  other  mode  of  com- 
pensating you." 

At  other  times,  and  frequently,  she  turned  the  conversation  to 
my  resolution  of  leaving  them  as  soon  as  she  should  recover. 
"  We  shall  be  sorry  to  lose  you,"  said  she,  good-naturedly  :  "  we 
shall  lament  your  loss  as  the  loss  of  a  true  friend  and  benefactor. 
We  will  not,  however,  by  our  entreaties  for  you  to  remain  with 
us,  render  your  resolution  more  difficult.  Your  heart  calls  you 
elsewhere,"  added  she,  with  an  arch  smile,  as  if  penetrating  the 


62 


ZSCHGKKE'S  TALES. 


secrets  of  my  breast.  "  If  you  are  happy,  there  is  nothing  else  to 
wish  for  ;  and  I  do  not  doubt  that  love  will  make  you  happy. 
Do  not,  however,  forget  us,  but  send  us  news  from  time  to  time  of 
your  health." 

What  I  felt  at  such  expressions,  could  be  as  little  uttered,  as 
that  I  should  repeat  what  I  was  usually  in  the  habit  of  replying. 
My  answers  were  full  of  acknowledgments  and  cold  politeness; 
for  respect  forbade  my  betraying  my  heart.  Nevertheless,  there 
were  moments  when  the  strength  of  my  feelings  mastered  me, 
and  I  said  more  than  I  purposed.  When  I  ventured  further  than 
mere  courtesy.  Hortensia  looked  at  me  with  the  clear  bright  look 
of  innocence,  as  if  she  did  not  comprehend  or  understand  me.  I 
was  convinced  that  Hortensia  felt  a  grateful  esteem  for  me,  and 
wished  me  to  be  happy  and  content,  without,  on  that  account, 
giving  me  a  secret  preference  over  any  other  mortal.  She  had 
joined  me  in  the  dance  at  the  ball,  from  mere  good-nature,  and 
to  give  me  pleasure.  She  herself  confessed,  that  she  had  always 
expected  me  to  ask  her.  Ah  !  how  my  passion  had  created  pre- 
sumptuous hopes  from  that  incident !  Presumptuous  hopes,  in- 
deed ;  since,  had  Hortensia,  in  reality,  felt  more  than  mere  com- 
mon good-will  toward  me,  of  what  service  would  it  have  been  to 
me  ?  I  should  only  have  become  more  miserable  by  her  par- 
tiality. 

While  the  flame  silently  devoured  me,  in  her  breast  was  a  pure 
heaven,  full  of  repose.  While  I  could  have  sunk  at  her  feet,  and 
confessed  what  she  was  to  me,  she  wandered  near  me  without  the 
slightest  suspicion  of  my  feelings,  and  endeavoured  to  dissipate 
my  seriousness  by  pleasantry. 


THE  DISENCHANTMENT. 

By  the  arrangements  of  the  Prince,  rooms  were  provided  for 
us  in  the  castle  of  the  Marquisa  d'Este.  This  castle,  situated 
on  a  hill  near  the  village,  combined,  with  the  greatest  comfort, 
the  most  lovely  distant  prospect  and  rich  shaded  walks  in  the 
vicinity.    But  we  were  obliged  to  resort  to  the  town  for  the 


ILLUMINATION  ;  OR,  THE  SLEEP- WAKER. 


G3 


oaths — therefore,  a  house  was  fitted  up  in  that  place  for  the 
Countess,  where  she  passed  the  mornings  as  long  as  she  bathed. 

Her  trance  in  Battaglia,  after  the  first  bath,  was  very  short  and 
indistinct.  She  spoke  but  seldom,  did  not  once  answer,  and  ap- 
peared to  enjoy  quite  a  natural  sleep.  She  spoke  after  the  seventh 
bath,  and  commanded,  that  after  the  tenth  she  should  no  longer 
remain  in  that  house.  It  is  true,  she  once  more  fell  asleep  after 
the  tenth  bath,  though  she  said  nothing  more  than  "Emanuel,  I 
see  thee  no  more  !"  These  were  the  last  words  she  spoke  in  her 
transfigurations. 

Since  then  she  had  had,  indeed,  for  some  days,  an  unnaturally 
sound  sleep,  but  without  the  power  of  speech  in  it. 

At  last  arrived  the  day  of  her  thirteenth  bath.  Until  now,  all 
that  she  had  commanded  or  predicted  in  her  transfigured  hours, 
had  been  most  punctually  fulfilled.  Now  was  the  last  to  be  ac- 
complished. The  Count  and  Prince  came  to  me  early  in  the 
morning,  in  order  to  remind  me  of  the  speedy  delivery  of  my 
amulet.  I  must  show  it  to  them.  They  did  not  leave  me  for  a 
moment  the  whole  morning,  as  if,  being  now  so  near  the  long- 
desired  goal,  they  had  suddenly  become  mistrustful,  and  feared  I 
might,  as  regarded  the  sacrifice,  change  my  mind  ;  or  that  the 
relic  might  accidentally  be  lost.  The  minutes  were  counted  as 
soon  as  the  news  came  that  the  Countess  was  in  the  bath.  When 
she  had  reposed  some  hours  after  her  bath,  she  was  conducted  by 
us  to  the  castle.  She  was  uncommonly  gay,  almost  mischievous. 
Having  been  told  that  she  was  to  receive  a  present  from  me  in 
the  seventh  hour,  which  she  must  wear  all  her  life,  she  was  de- 
lighted as  a  child  at  a  gift,  and  teazed  me,  jestingly,  with  the 
faithlessness  I  committed  toward  my  chosen  one,  whose  present  I 
gave  to  another. 

It  struck  twelve!  The  seventh  hour  had  arrived.  We  were 
in  the  bright  garden  saloon.  The  Count,  the  Prince,  and  the  wo- 
men of  the  Countess  were  present. 

"  Delay  no  longer,"  cried  the  Count,  "  the  moment  which  is  to 
be  the  last  of  Hortensia's  sufferings  and  the  first  of  my  happi- 
ness." 

I  drew  the  dear  medallion  from  my  breast,  where  I  had  carried 
it  so  long,  and  loosening  the  golden  chain  from  my  neck,  pressed, 


64 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


not  without  a  sorrowful  feeling,  a  kiss  upon  the  glass,  and  deliver- 
ed it  to  the  Countess. 

Hortensia  took  it,  and  as  her  look  fell  on  the  dried  rose,  a  sudden 
and  fiery  red  spread  over  her  face.  She  bowed  gently  toward  me,  as 
if  she  would  thank  me — but  in  her  features  might  be  discovered  a 
surprise  or  confusion,  which  she  appeared  to  endeavour  to  conceal. 
She  stammered  some  words,  and  then  suddenly  withdrew  with 
her  women.  The  Count  and  Prince  were  all  gratitude  towards 
me.  They  had  arranged  for  the  evening  a  little  festival  at  the 
castle,  to  which  some  noble  families  from  Este  and  Rovigo  were 
invited. 

In  the  mean  time  we  expected  long,  and  in  vain,  the  reappear- 
ance of  the  Countess.  After  an  hour  we  learnt,  that  as  soon  as 
she  had  put  on  the  medallion,  she  had  fallen  into  a  sweet  and 
profound  sleep.  Two,  three,  four  hours  passed — the  invited  guests 
had  assembled,  but  Hortensia  did  not  awake.  The  Count  in  great 
disquiet  ventured  to  go  himself  to  her  bed.  As  he  found  her  in  a 
deep  and  quiet  slumber,  he  feared  to  disturb  her.  The  fete  pass- 
ed over  without  Hortensia's  presence — though,  without  her,  half 
the  pleasure  was  wanting.  Hortensia  still  slept  as  they  separated 
about  midnight.  And  even  the  following  morning  she  was  still 
in  the  same  sound  sleep.  No  noise  affected  her.  The  Count  was 
in  great  agony.  My  uneasiness  was  no  less.  A  physician  was 
called,  who  assured  us  that  the  Countess  slept  a  sound  and  refresh- 
ing sleep — both  her  colour  and  pulse  announced  the  most  perfect 
health.  Mid-day  and  evening  came — yet  Hortensia  did  not 
awake  !  The  repeated  assurances  of  the  physician  that  the  Count- 
ess was  manifestly  in  perfect  health,  were  necessary  to  quiet  us. 
The  night  came  and  passed.  The  next  morning  rejoicings  echo- 
ed through  the  castle,  as  Hortensia's  women  announced  her 
cheerful  waking.  Every  one  hurried  forward,  and  wished  the 
restored  one  joy. 


NEW  ENCHANTMENTS. 


Why  should  I  not  say  it  ? — During  the  universal  joy  I  alone 
was  sad — alas  !  it  was  more  than  sadness.    The  engagements 


ILLUMINATION  ;  OR,  THE  SLEEP-WAKER. 


65 


into  which  I  had  entered  with  the  Count  Von  Hormegg  were  now 
at  an  end.  I  could  take  my  departure  whenever  I  pleased,  and 
I  had  often  enough  expressed  my  wish  and  intention  of  so  doing. 

Every  body  expected  that  I  would  keep  my  word  ;  but  to 

breathe  in  her  neighbourhood,  seemed  to  me  the  most  enviable 
of  all  lots, — to  receive  a  glance  of  hers  was  nourishment  to  the 
flame  of  my  life — to  go  away  from  her  was  a  sentence  of  death. 

I  thought  of  her  approaching  marriage  with  the  Prince,  and 
the  fickleness  of  the  weak  Count — I  thought  of  my  own  honour — 
of  my  love  of  freedom — and  my  manly  pride  arose.  I  was  decided 
to  leave  that  place  as  soon  as  possible.  I  resolved  to  fly.  I  saw 
before  me  an  eternity  of  misery,  but  I  preferred  to  bid  joy  a  life- 
long farewell  to  becoming  contemptible  in  my  own  estimation. 

I  found  Hortensia  in  the  garden  of  the  castle.  I  trembled  gently 
as  I  approached  her  to  offer  my  congratulations.  She  stood  apart 
from  her  maidens,  looking  thoughtfully  upon  a  bed  of  flowers, 
and  appeared  fresher  and  more  blooming  than  I  had  ever  seen 
her,  as  if  animated  by  a  new  life.  She  was  not  aware  of  my 
presence  until  I  spoke. 

"  How  you  frightened  me  !"  said  she,  smiling,  and  with  some 
embarrassment,  while  a  deep  blush  overspread  her  cheeks. 

"  My  dear  Countess,  I  also  would  wish  you  joy.  My  con- 
gratulations " 

I  could  say  no  more,  for  my  voice  trembled — my  thoughts  be- 
came confused — I  could  not  support  her  looks,  which  penetrated 
into  the  depths  of  my  heart.  With  some  difficulty  I  stammered 
out  my  excuses  for  having  disturbed  her. 

She  looked  at  me  silently,  and  after  a  long  pause  said,  "  You 
speak  of  joy,  my  friend  ;  but  are  you  happy  ?" 

"Yes.  in  having  restored  you  from  a  sickness  under  which  you 
have  suffered  so  long.  In  a  few  days  I  must  depart,  and  in  other 
lands,  if  possible,  become  master  over  myself,  for  I  belong  to  no 
one  now.    My  vow  is  redeemed." 

"  Are  you  in  earnest,  dear  Faust  ?  I  hope  you  will  not  leave 
us.  How  can  you  say  that  you  belong  to  no  one  ?  Have  you 
not  bound  us  to  you  by  all  the  ties  of  gratitude  !  What  forces 
you  to  separate  from  us  V 

part  n.  6 


/ 


GG 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


I  laid  my  hand  upon  my  heart ;  my  eyes  fell  to  the  ground — 
I  could  not  speak. 

"  You  will  stay  with  us  Faust,  will  you  not  V 
"  I  dare  not." 

"  And  if  I  entreat  you,  Faust  ?" 

"  For  God's  sake,  gracious  Countess,  do  not  entreat,  do  not 
command  me.    I  can  only  be  happy  when  I — no,  I  must  go 

hence  !" 

"  You  are  not  happy  with  us  ?  and  yet  no  other  employment, 
no  other  duty  calls  you  away  from  us?" 
"  Duty  towards  myself." 

"  Go,  then,  Faust  ;  I  have  been  mistaken  in  you.  I  thought 
that  we  held  some  place  in  your  heart." 

"  Gracious  Countess,  if  you  knew  the  effect  of  your  words,  you 
would  spare  me  out  of  compassion  ! 

"  Then  I  must  be  silent,  Faust.  Go  !  but  you  do  me  great 
wrong." 

Saying  these  words,  she  turned  away  from  me.  I  ventured  to 
follow  her,  and  beg  that  she  would  not  be  angry  with  me.  Tears 
were  falling  from  her  eyes.  I  was  frightened.  With  clasped 
hands,  I  begged  her  not  to  be  offended  with  me.  "  Command 
me,"  said  I,  "  I  will  obey.  Do  you  desire  me  to  remain  ? — With 
pleasure  I  offer  up  my  inward  peace,  the  happiness  of  my  life,  to 
this  command  !" 

"  Go,  Faust  ;  I  would  force  no  one.  You  do  not  stay  with  us 
willingly." 

"  Oh,  Countess,  do  not  drive  a  man  to  despair." 
"  Faust,  when  will  you  leave  ?" 
"  To-morrow — to-day." 

"  No,  no,  Faust !"  said  she  softly,  and  Approached  nearer  to 
me  :  ;'  I  place  no  value  upon  my  health,  which  is  your  gift,  if 

you  Faust!  you  will  remain  ;  — at  least  a  few  more  days?" 

She  said  this  in  such  a  soft,  beseeching  voice,  and  looked  at  me 
so  wiot fully  with  her  tearful  eyes,  that  I  was  no  longer  master  of 
my  own  will. 

"  I  remain." 

"  But  willingly  ?" 

"  With  rapture." 


ILLUMINATION  ;  OR,  THE  SLEEP- WAKER. 


67 


"Good! — now  leave  me  a  moment,  Faust.  You  have  made 
me  quite  sad.  But  do  not  leave  the  garden.  I  only  wish  to  re- 
cover myself." 

With  these  words  she  left  me,  and  disappeared  among  the 
blooming  orange-trees. 

I  remained  standing  in  the  same  place  for  a  long  time,  as  if  in 
a  dream.  I  had  never  heard  the  Countess  make  use  of  such  lan- 
guage before,  nor  was  it  the  mere  language  of  politeness.  The 
idea  of  possessing  a  place  in  her  heart  set  my  blood  on  fire.  Her 
solicitations  for  me  to  remain — those  tears — and — something  inde- 
scribable, something  peculiar;  her  behaviour,  her  movements, 
her  voice,  spoke  a  strange  language — a  language  without  words, 
but  which  expressed  more  than  words.  I  understood  it  not,  and 
yet  I  understood  all.  I  doubted,  and  yet  I  was  certain.  I  joined 
the  other  young  women,  and  after  walking  up  and  down  the  al- 
ley for  about  ten  minutes,  the  Countess  approached  us  gaily  and 
with  quick  steps.  Her  graceful  figure  floated  midst  white  dra- 
pery that  in  the  sun's  full  rays  made  her  seem  like  one  of  those 
beings  that  Raphael  painted  from  his  dreams.  In  her  hand  she 
held  a  bunch  of  pinks,  roses,  and  the  blue  vanilla  blossom.  "  I 
have  plucked  you  a  few  flowers,"  dear  Faust,  said  she  to  me  :  "  do 
not  disdain  them.  1  give  them  to  you  with  quite  other  feelings  from 
those  I  felt  while  giving  you  the  rose  during  my  sickness.  But 
I  should  not  remind  you  of  that,  my  dear  Doctor :  I  worried  you 
then  so  much  with  my  childish  caprices.  I  remember  it,  however, 
very  dutifully,  that  I  may  make  it  up.  Oh  how  much  I  have  to 
atone  for!  Now  give  me  one  arm,  and  Miss  Cecilia  the  other." 
That  was  the  name  of  her  companion.  As  we  walked  about, 
joking  and  chatting  gaily,  the  Count  joined  us,  and  soon  after  the 
Prince. 

Never  was  Hortensia  more  lovely  than  on  this,  the  first  day  of 
her  recovered  health.  She  addressed  her  father  with  tender  re- 
spect, her  companions  with  friendly  confidence,  the  Prince  with 
great  politeness  and  kindness ;  but  to  me  she  always  made  some 
demonstration  of  gratitude.  Not  that  she  thanked  me  in  words* 
but  it  was  the  manner  in  which  she  spoke.  Whenever  she  turn- 
ed to  me  there  was  something  indescribably  cordial  in  her  tones 
and  words,  something  sisterly  and  confiding  in  her  looks  and 


68 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


manner,  an  attention  paid  to  my  happiness  and  wishes  that  was 
never  altered  by  her  father's  presence,  or  that  of  the  Prince.  She 
continued  it  with  ingenuousness  and  sincerity,  as  if  it  could  not 
be  otherwise. 

In  festivities  and  pleasure  we  passed  some  delightful  days. 
Hortensia's  behaviour  towards  me  did  not  change.  Even  I,  who 
was  fluttering  betwixt  the  cold  laws  of  respect  and  the  warmth  of 
passion,  felt  an  inward  strength  and  peace  from  her  society  that 
had  never  been  mine  since  I  had  first  seen  this  wonderful  woman. 
Her  innocence  and  sincerity  made  me  more  candid  and  truthful ; 
her  sisterly  confidence  gave  me  some  fraternal  rights.  She  did 
not  conceal  that  her  heart  was  full  of  the  purest  affection  for  me. 
Still  less  did  I  conceal  my  own  feelings,  but  I  did  not  dare  to  be- 
tray their  depth.    And  yet  Oh,  who  could  withstand  such 

charms  ! — I  was  betrayed. 

The  visitors  to  the  Baths  of  Battaglia  are  accustomed  to  assem- 
ble on  fine  evenings  before  the  great  Cafe,  and  take  refresh- 
ments in  the  open  air. 

People  were  sitting  in  a  half  circle  in  the  open  street  indulging 
in  unrestrained  conversation.  As  is  always  the  case  in  Italy,  the 
tinkling  of  guitars,  mandolins,  and  the  sound  of  voices  singing, 
were  to  be  heard  in  every  direction.  Music  sounded  in  the  great 
coffee-house ;  its  doors  and  windows  illuminated  the  street. 

After  the  Prince  had  left  us  earlier  than  usual  one  evening,  the 
Countess  took  a  notion  to  visit  this  assembly.  I  had  already  gone 
to  my  room,  and  sat  dreaming  over  my  destiny,  and  holding  in 
my  hands  the  bunch  of  flowers.  My  door  was  partly  open ;  the 
light  burned  dimly.  Hortensia  and  Cecilia  saw  me  in  passing, 
and  watched  me  for  a  while.  Then  they  entered  softly — but  I 
did  not  notice  them  until  they  stood  exactly  before  me,  and  laugh- 
ing and  jesting  at  my  surprise,  declared  that  I  must  accompany 
them  to  town.  Hortensia  recognized  the  flowers,  took  them  from 
the  table  where  I  had  thrown  them,  and,  withered  as  they  were, 
placed  them  on  her  bosom.  We  went  down  to  Battaglia,  and 
mingled  with  the  company. 

Here  it  happened  that,  in  conversing  with  persons  of  her  ac- 
quaintance, Cecilia  separated  from  us.  Neither  Hortensia  nor  I 
were  sorry.    Leaning  upon  my  arm,  she  wandered  about  midst 


ILLUMINATION  ;  OR,  THE  SLEEP-WAKER. 


the  moving  crowd  until  she  was  tired.  We  then  seated  ourselves 
aside  on  a  low  bench,  under  an  elm-tree.  The  moon  shone 
through  the  branches  upon  Hortensia's  beautiful  face,  and  upon 
the  wilted  flowers  in  her  bosom. 

"  Will  you  rob  me  of  that  which  you  have  given  me  ?"  said  I, 
pointing  to  the  bouquet. 

She  looked  at  me  long  with  serious  and  thoughtful  earnestness, 
and  replied,  "  It  always  appears  to  me  as  if  I  could  neither  give 
you  anything  nor  take  anything  from  you.  Is  it  not  sometimes 
so  with  you  ?" 

This  answer  and  question,  so  quietly  and  gently  thrown  out, 
embarrassed  and  kept  me  silent.  My  respect  would  scarcely 
allow  me  to  touch  upon  what  had  so  agreeable  a  meaning.  She 
repeated  the  question. 

"  Alas,  it  is  so  indeed  with  me  !"  said  I :  "  when  I  see  the  gulf 
between  us  two,  and  the  rank  that  keeps  me  at  a  distance,  I  al- 
ways feel  thus.  Who  can  take  away  from  or  give  to  the  gods 
that  which  they  have  not  always  possessed  ?" 

Her  eyes  opened  with  surprise.  "  Why  do  you  talk  of  the 
gods,  Faust  ?    No  one  can  give  to  or  take  from  themselves." 

"  From  one's  self?"  said  I,  with  an  uncertain  voice;  "you 
must  know  then  that  you  have  made  me  your  own  property." 

"  I  do  not  know  myself  exactly  how  it  is,"  was  her  answer, 
and  she  cast  down  her  eyes. 

"  But  I  do  know  how  it  is,  dear  Countess  !  The  enchantment 
which  ruled  over  us  is  not  dispelled  ;  it  has  only  changed  its  mode 
of  action.  In  your  trances,  I  formerly  governed  your  will ;  now 
you  rule  over  mine.  I  only  live  in  your  presence  ;  I  can  do  noth- 
ing ;  I  am  nothing  without  you.  Be  offended  if  you  will,  at  this 
avowal ;  it  is  a  crime  to  the  world's  eye,  but  not  in  God's  !  For 
what  I  do  is  at  your  command.  Can  I  dissemble  before  you  ? 
And  if  it  is  a  crime  that  my  soul  is  so  bound  up  in  your  being, 
Countess,  it  is  not  my  crime." 

She  turned  away  her  head,  and  raised  her  hand,  with  a  sign  for 
me  to  be  silent.  I  had  raised  mine  at  the  same  moment,  to  cover 
my  eyes,  that  were  dimmed  with  tears,  and  our  upraised  hands 
sank  down  clasped  together.    We  were  silent,  for  reason  was  lost 

4 


70 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


under  the  influence  of  powerful  passion.  I  had  betrayed  that 
passion  ;  but  Hortensia  had  forgiven  me. 

Cecilia  recalled  us  to  ourselves.  We  walked  silently  back  to 
the  castle.  As  we  separated,  the  Countess  said  softly  and  sadly, 
"  I  have  obtained  health  through  your  means,  only  to  suffer  the 
more." 


petrarch's  dwelling. 

The  next  day,  when  we  met,  it  was  with  a  kind  of  sacred  ti- 
midity. I  scarcely  ventured  to  address  her ;  she  scarcely  ven- 
tured to  answer  me.  Our  glances  often  met,  and  they  were  full 
of  seriousness.  She  looked  as  if  seeking  to  penetrate  my  inmost 
thoughts.  I  sought  to  read  in  her  eyes,  whether  she  was  not  of- 
fended at  my  yesterday's  boldness,  now  that  she  was  calm. 
Many  days  passed  without  our  again  seeing  each  other  alone. 
We  had  a  secret,  and  feared  lest  a  word  between  us  might  pro- 
fane it.  Hortensia's  whole  demeanour  was  more  solemn  ;  her 
gaiety  more  moderate,  as  if  her  whole  heart  was  not  in  her  usual 
occupations. 

But  I  counted  too  much  upon  her  altered  manner  after  that 
decisive  hour  under  the  elm-tree.  For,  as  I  afterwards  learned, 
Prince  Carlo  had  formally  asked  for  the  hand  of  the  Countess, 
and  there  had  been  some  unpleasant  feelings  between  herself, 
her  father,  and  the  Prince,  in  consequence.  In  order  to  gain 
time  and  not  to  offend  either  of  the  two,  she  begged  them  to  give 
her  leisure  for  reflection  ;  and  for  such  an  unlimited  period,  and 
under  such  hard  conditions,  that  Carlo  almost  despaired  of  ever 
seeing  his  hopes  crowned.  As  she  expressed  herself  at  the  time, 
"  Not  that  I  dislike  the  Prince,  but  I  still  choose  to  enjoy  my  free- 
dom. I  will  at  some  future  time  give  my  answer  voluntarily  and 
of  my  own  accord.  But  if  the  offer  is  repeated  before  I  desire  it, 
I  will  certainly  decline  it,  even  if  I  were  truly  attached  to  the 
Prince." 

The  Count  knew  the  inflexible  disposition  of  his  daughter  of 
old  ;  but  he  hoped  for  the  best,  as  Hortensia  had  not  absolutely 


ILLUMINATION  ;  OR,  THE  SLEEP-WAKER. 


71 


declined  his  suit.  Carlo,  on  the  contrary,  was  rather  discouraged, 
for  by  this  arrangement  he  saw  himself  condemned  to  be  always 
a  lover  without  definite  hopes  of  being  some  day  a  husband.  Yet 
he  had  sufficient  self-love  to  hope  that  his  continued  assiduities 
would  finally  touch  Hortensia's  heart.  The  confidential  manner 
in  which  she  treated  me  sometimes  annoyed  him,  but  he  did  not 
seem  to  consider  it  dangerous  from  its  very  frankness  and  unre- 
serve. Hortensia  treated  him  in  much  the  same  manner.  The 
Prince  had  been  accustomed  to  seeing  me  considered  as  the  friend 
of  the  house  and  a  confidential  adviser  by  both  the  father  and 
daughter,  and  as  the  Count  had  confided  to  him  the  secret  of  my 
plebeian  descent,  he  feared  me  so  much  the  less  as  a  rival.  Yes  ! 
he  even  condescended  to  make  me  his  confidant,  and  told  me  one 
day  the  whole  story  of  his  wooing  for  Hortensia's  hand,  and  the 
answer  of  the  Countess.  He  begged  me  to  use  my  friendly  ser- 
vices to  ascertain  whether  she  had  any  inclination  for  him,  how- 
ever slight.  I  was  obliged  to  promise  that  I  would,  and  every 
day  he  asked  me  "  whether  I  had  made  any  discovery  ?" — and  I 
could  always  excuse  myself  by  answering  that  I  had  found  no 
opportunity  to  see  the  Countess  alone. 

Probably  to  give  me  this  opportunity  he  proposed  a  little  plea- 
sure party  to  A.^uato,  three  miles  from  Battaglia,  where  visitors 
to  the  Baths  often  made  a  pilgrimage  to  the  tomb  and  dwelling 
house  of  Petrarch.  Of  all  the  Italian  poets,  Hortensia  loved  this 
tender  and  spiritual  songster  of  true  love  the  best.  She  had  been 
delighted  at  the  idea  of  making  this  pilgrimage.  But  when  the 
moment  of  departure  arrived,  Carlo,  under  some  slight  pretence, 
remained  behind,  and  also  prevented  the  old  Count  from  accom- 
panying Hortensia,  but  promised,  however,  to  follow  us  soon. 
Beatrice  and  Cecilia,  the  companions  of  the  Countess,  rode  with 
her.    I  rode  on  horseback  beside  the  carriage. 

I  led  the  ladies  to  the  churchyard  of  the  village,  where  a  simple 
stone  covered  the  ashes  of  the  immortal  poet,  and  translated  the 
Latin  inscription  for  them.  Hortensia  stood  thoughtfully  before 
the  grave.  She  sighed  and  said,  "  All  does  not  die !"  and  I 
thought  I  felt  a  slight  pressure  on  my  arm.  "If  all  died,*'  said  I, 
"  would  not  the  life  of  man  be  a  cruelty  in  the  Creator,  and  love 
be  the  heaviest  curse  in  life  ?" 


72 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


We  left  the  churchyard  in  sadness.  A  friendly  old  man  led  us 
from  thence  to  a  neighbouring  vine-covered  hill,  upon  which 
stood  Petrarch's  dwelling  with  its  little  garden.  In  the  house 
they  showed  us  Petrarch's  household  furniture,  which  had  been 
preserved  with  religious  care  :  the  table  by  which  he  had  both 
read  and  written,  the  seat  upon  which  he  had  rested  himself — 
even  the  kitchen  utensils  were  there. 

The  sight  of  such  relics  always  influences  my  mind — it  annihi- 
lates the  intervals  of  centuries,  and  the  present  is  utterly  lost  in 
the  past.  To  me  it  seemed  as  if  the  poet  had  gone  out,  and 
would  presently  open  his  little  brown  door  and  greet  us.  Horten- 
sia  found  a  beautiful  edition  of  Petrarch's  sonnets  upon  a  table  in 
the  corner.  Being  fatigued,  she  seated  herself,  leaned  her  beauti- 
ful head  upon  her  hand,  and  read  attentively,  whilst  the  fingers 
of  that  uplifted  hand  shaded  and  concealed  her  eyes.  Beatrice 
and  Cecilia  went  to  prepare  some  refreshment  for  the  Countess. 
I  stood  silently-by  the'^ndow.  Petrarch's  love  and  hopelessness 
were  my  destiny ;  another  Laura  sat  before  me,  not  rendered 
divine  by  the  charms  of  the  muse,  but  by  her  own. 

Hortensia  raised  a  handkerchief  to  dry  her  eyes.  I  was  dis- 
tressed at  seeing  her  weep,  and  approached  her  timidly,  though  I 
did  not  venture  to  speak.  Suddenly  she  rose,  a»~^  smiling  on  me 
through  her  tears,  said  :  "  Poor  Petrarch  i  Poor  human  heart ! 
but  nothing  is  lasting.  Centuries  have  passed  since  he  ceased  to 
lament.  But  they  say  that  in  his  latter  years  he  conquered  his 
passion.  It  is  a  good  thing  to  conquer  oneself.  Might  it  not  be 
called  annihilating  oneself?" 

"And  if  necessity  commands  it?" 

"  Has  necessity  any  power  over  the  human  heart  ?" 

"  But  Laura  was  the  wife  of  Hugo  de  Sade — her  heart  could 
not  belong  to  Petrarch.  It  was  his  lot  to  love  alone,  to  die  alone. 
He  had  the  gift  of  song,  and  the  muses  consoled  him.  He  was 
unhappy — as  I  am." 

"  As  you  are — you  unhappy,  Faust  ?"  interrupted  Hortensia  in 
a  scarcely  audible  voice. 

"  I  have  not  the  divine  gift  of  song.  My  heart  will  break,  for 
it  finds  no  consolation.  Countess,  dear  Countess — may  I  say 
more  to  you  than  I  have  said  ?    But  I  will  remain  worthy  of 


ILLUMINATION;  OR,  THE  SLEEP- WAKER. 


73 


your  esteem,  and  that  can  only  be  by  a  manly  courage.  Grant 

me  one  request,  only  one  modest  request  ?" 

Hortensia  cast  down  her  eyes  and  did  not  answer. 

"  One  request,  dear  Countess,  to  give  me  peace." 

"  What  would  you  have  V  whispered  she,  without  looking  up. 

"  Am  I  certain  that  you  will  grant  my  prayer  ?" 

She  looked  at  me  seriously  and  earnestly,  and  then  said  with 
an  indescribable  dignity :  "  Faust,  I  do  not  know  what  you  will 
ask,  but  however  great  it  may  be — yes,  Faust,  I  am  indebted  to 
you  for  my  life  ;  my  confidence — I  grant  your  request.  Speak." 

I  seized  her  hand,  I  sank  at  her  feet,  I  pressed  my  burning  lips 
to  her  hand  ;  I  nearly  lost  my  consciousness  and  my  speech. 
Hortensia,  profoundly  absorbed,  and  as  if  without  feeling,  remain- 
ed with  downcast  eyes. 

At  length  I  regained  the  power  to  speak.  "  I  must  away  from 
this.  Let  me  fly.  I  cannot  longer  tarry.  Let  me  grow  tranquil 
once  more,  in  some  solitude,  far  from  thee.  I  must  hence.  I 
disturb  the  peace  of  your  house.  Carlo  has  requested  your 
hand." 

"  It  shall  never  be  his,"  interposed  the  Countess,  in  a  deter- 
mined tone. 

Let  me  fly  !  Even  your  goodness  increases  the  multitude  of 
my  miseries." 

Hortensia  was  in  a  vehement  struggle  with  herself.  "  You  do 
me  a  frightful  wrong.  But  I  dare  no  longer  hinder  you,"  she 
cried,  and  burst  into  violent  weeping.  She  grew  faint,  and  sought 
a  seat.  As  I  sprang  toward  her,  she  sunk  sobbing  upon  my 
breast.  After  a  few  moments  she  became  self-possessed  again. 
She  felt  herself  embraced  by  my  arms,  and  would  have  released 
them.  But  I,  with  Heaven  in  my  breast,  forgetful  of  the  re- 
straints of  former  reverence,  embraced  her  more  tenderly,  and 
sighed,  "  But  one  moment — now  enough  !"  Her  resistance  gave 
way.  She  raised  her  eyes  to  me,  and  with  a  countenance  which 
a  blush,  like  the  red  of  her  illuminations,  suffused,  she  whispered, 
"  Faust,  what's  this?" 

"  Will  you  not  forget  me,  when  I  am  far  away  ?"  I  asked,  in 
reply. 

"  How  can  I  ?"  she  sighed,  and  again  cast  down  her  eyes. 


74 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


"  Farewell,  Hortensia  !"  I  stammered,  as  my  forehead  sunk 
down  upon  hers. 

"  Emanuel !  Emanuel !"  she  whispered.  My  lips  hung  upon 
hers.  I  felt  her  tender  and  almost  imperceptible  kiss,  while  her 
arms  clung  round  my  neck.    Time  vanished  away. 

I  went  from  Petrarch's  dwelling,  by  her  side,  like  one  intoxicated, 
down  the  steps  leading  from  the  hill.  Two  servants  waited  be- 
low, who  guided  us  to  a  bower  under  wild  laurel-trees,  where  a 
little  meal  had  been  prepared.  In  a  moment  the  vehicle  of  the 
Prince  rolled  past,  and  Carlo  and  the  Count  alighted.^ 

Hortensia  was  very  serious,  and  quite  abrupt  in  her  replies. 
She  seemed  lost  in  thought.  I  saw  that  she  made  an  effort  when 
she  would  speak  to  the  Prince.  Towards  me  she  preserved  un- 
changed the  same  heartiness  and  confidence  of  deportment. 
Petrarch's  dwelling  was  again  visited,  as  the  Count  wished  to 
see  it.  When  we  entered  the  room,  which  our  reciprocal  con- 
fession had  consecrated  into  a  sanctuary,  Hortensia  resumed  the 
seat  at  the  table,  where  lay  the  book,  precisely  as  at  the  first  visit, 
and  kept  it  till  we  went  away.  Then  she  arose,  placed  her  hand 
on  her  breast,  looked  at  me  with  a  penetrating  look,  and  hastened 
out  of  the  house. 

The  Prince  remarked  this  gesture  and  glance.  A  dark  red 
came  over  his  dejected  visage  ;  he  passed  on  with  folded  arms 
and  sunken  head.  All  joy  was  fled  from  our  company.  Each 
seemed  anxious  to  reach  the  castle  again.  I  did  not  doubt  that 
Carlo's  jealousy  had  detected  all ;  but  I  feared  his  vindictiveness 
less  on  my  own  account,  than  for  the  peace  of  the  Countess. 

Therefore,  as  soon  as  I  got  home,  I  resolved  to  make  every  thing 
ready  for  a  hasty  departure  the  next  morning.  I  disclosed  to  the 
Count  my  unalterable  resolution,  surrendered  him  all  the  papers, 
and  entreated  him  not  to  say  any  thing  to  the  Countess,  until  I 
was  far  on  my  way. 


THE  SAD  SEPARATION. 


I  had  long  before  been  promised  by  the  Count,  in  case  of  my 
departure,  the  company  of  the  valiant  old  Sebald,  who  had  many 


ILLUMINATION;  OR,  THE  SLEEP- WAKER. 


75 


times  asked  for  his  dismissal,  that  lie  might  return  to  his  German 
home.  When  he  heard  that  the  moment  of  parting  had  arrived, 
he  danced  and  whirled  ahout  the  room  for  very  rapture.  Each  of 
us  with  a  horse  and  portmanteau,  we  were  entirely  equipped  for 
the  journey. 

I  had  determined  to  ride  away  quietly  before  the  break  of  day. 
None  in  the  castle  knew  this,  except  Sebald  and  the  Count,  and 
none  were  to  learn  it.  I  intended  to  leave  behind  a  few  lines  to 
Hortensia,  expressive  of  my  thanks  and  love,  and  bidding  her  an 
everlasting  farewell.  The  old  Count  seemed  rather  surprised, 
but  not  altogether  displeased.  He  embraced  me  most  tenderly, 
thanked  me  for  the  services  I  had  rendered  him,  and  promised  to 
come  to  my  room  within  a  half  hour,  to  deliver  me  some  useful 
papers,  which  would  ensure  me  in  future  a  life  free  from  care ; 
or,  as  he  expressed  it,  the  interest  on  the  life-long  debt  he  owed  me. 
I  did  not  refuse  a  moderate  sum  for  my  travelling  expenses  to  Ger- 
many, for  in  fact  I  was  nearly  destitute  of  money,  but  my  pride 
hindered  me  from  accepting  more  than  that. 

Soon  as  I  returned  to  my  rooms,  we  packed  up.  Sebald  has- 
tened to  the  horses,  and  provided  all  that  was  necessary  for  our 
instant  departure.  I  wrote,  in  the  meantime,  to  Hortensia.  I 
will  not  here  describe  what  I  suffered — how  I  struggled  with 
myself — how  often  I  sprang  from  the  table  to  weep  out  my  sor- 
row. My  life  was  wasted,  my  future  without  happiness.  Death 
were  sweeter  and  easier  than  a  life  devoid  of  hope. 

Many  times  I  tore  what  I  had  just  written,  and  had  not  yet 
finished,  when  I  was  disturbed  in  a  manner  that  I  least  expected. 

Sebald  rushed  into  the  room,  trembling  and  gasping  for  breath  ; 
seized  the  packed  portmanteaus,  and  exclaimed  :  "  Mr.  Faust,  a 
misfortune  has  happened  !  They  will  drag  you  to  a  prison ! 
They  will  murder  you  !  Let  us  fly  before  it  is  too  late  !"  I 
asked  in  vain  for  the  cause  of  his  terror.  I  could  only  learn  that 
the  old  Count  was  furious  ;  the  Prince  raving ;  and  the  whole 
Castle  raised  against  me. — I  answered  coolly,  that  I  had  no  cause 
for  fear,  still  less  to  fly  as  a  criminal.  "  Sir,"  cried  Sebald,  "  we 
cannot  escape  from  this  unfortunate  family  without  some  misfor- 
tune. An  Evil  Star  rules  over  them.  I  said  that  long  since. 
You  must  fly !" 


76 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


At  this  moment  two  Chasseurs*  of  the  Count  entered  the  room, 
requesting  me  to  come  immediately  to  his  excellency.  Sebald 
winked  his  eyes,  and  signed  to  me  to  try  and  escape  them.  I 
could  not  refrain  from  smiling  at  his  fears,  and  followed  the 
Chasseurs  ;  ordering  him,  however,  to  saddle  the  horses,  as  I  no 
longer  doubted  that  something  extraordinary  had  happened.  It 
was  likely  that  the  Prince,  instigated  by  jealousy,  had  fastened 
some  accusation  upon  me. 

It  happened  in  this  wise :  I  had  scarcely  left  the  Count  Von 
Hormegg,  when  Carlo  came  to  him  in  a  great  rage,  and  asserted 
that  I  had  dishonoured  his  house  by  a  secret  intrigue  with  the  Coun- 
tess. Beatrice,  one  of  Hortensia's  companions,  who  had  been 
gained  over  to  the  Prince,  either  by  presents  or  by  kindness,  had, 
on  leaving  Petrarch's  dwelling,  with  Cecilia,  become  impatient  at 
our  delay  ;  returning  to  that  spot,  she  had  seen  us  embrace.  The 
damsel  was  discreet  enough  not  to  disturb  us,  but  ready  enough 
to  betray  this  important  occurrence  to  the  Prince,  as  soon  as  we 
returned  to  the  Castle.  The  Count  Von  Hormegg  could  believe 
anything  more  readily  than  this  assertion,  because  it  seemed  to 
him  the  most  unnatural  of  all  delinquencies — a  common  citizen, 
a  painter,  to  win  the  love  of  a  Countess  of  Hormegg — he  treated 
the  matter  at  first  as  an  illusion  of  jealousy.  To  justify  himself, 
the  Prince  was  obliged  to  betray  the  betrayers,  and  Beatrice 
acknowledged  what  had  happened,  although  not  without  some 
resistance  on  her  part. 

The  wrath  of  the  old  Count  knew  no  bounds,  yet  such  an  event 
seemed  so  monstrous  to  him,  that  he  even  desired  to  question  his 
daughter.  Hortensia  appeared.  The  sight  of  those  pale  faces, 
disfigured  by  anger  and  dismay,  terrified  her.  "  What  has  hap- 
pened here  V  she  exclaimed,  half  beside  herself.  With  fearful 
earnestness,  the  Count  replied  :  "  That,  thou  art  to  answer."  He 
then  took  her  hand  with  forced  calmness  and  gentleness,  and  said: 
"  Hortensia,  they  accuse  thee  of  staining  the  honour  of  our  name, 
by — it  must  be  spoken — by  a  love  affair  with  that  painter,  Faust. 
Hortensia,  deny  it,  say  no  !    Give  thy  father  back  peace  and 

*  Footmen  in  fanciful  hunting  dress,  with  cutlass  and  dirk.  They  are  al- 
ways seen  behind  the  carriage  of  a  lady  of  high  rank,  or  about  her  doors. 


ILLUMINATION  ;  OR,  THE  SLEEP- WAKER. 


77 


honour.  Thou  canst  do  it.  Silence  all  malicious  tongues.  Re- 
fute what  was  but  a  delusion,  a  mistake,  a  deception,  when  icy 
said  they  saw  thee  to-day  in  the  arms  of  Faust.  Here  stands  the 
Prince,  thy  future  husband.  Give  him  thy  hand  !  Prove  to  him 
that  these  are  wicked  lies,  which  have  been  said  about  thee  and 
Faust !  Faust's  presence  shall  no  longer  disturb  our  peace.  This 
nigh*,  he  leaves  us  forever." 

The  Count  continued  to  speak  for  some  time.  He  did  it  proba- 
bly to  cover  Hortensia's  blushes,  which  left  him  no  doubt  of  the 
truth  of  the  occurrence,  and  also  to  give  the  matter  a  more 
favourable  turn,  that  would  reconcile  the  Prince,  and  put  all 
things  in  their  proper  train  again.  When  he  stopped  he  was  least 
of  all  prepared  for  what  Hortensia  actually  did. 

With  the  dignified  and  decisive  manner  peculiar  to  her,  she 
turned  first  toward  Beatrice,  and  roused  to  the  most  lively  emo- 
tion by  her  treachery,  and  the  announcement  of  my  sudden 
departure  during  that  night,  she  exclaimed  :  "  Wretched  being  ! 
I  do  not  stand  confronted  to  thee.  My  servant  shall  not  be  my 
accuser.  I  need  not  justify  myself  before  thee. — Leave  this 
room,  and  this  Castle,  and  never  come  before  my  eyes  again." 

Beatrice,  in  tears,  attempted  to  fall  at  her  feet.  But  it  was  in 
vain,  she  was  forced  to  obey  and  depart. 

Then  the  Countess  turned  to  her  father,  and  desired  me  to  be 
called.  The  Count  went  out  hastily,  and  I  was  requested  to  come. 
Hortensia  had  also  absented  herself  for  a  moment,  and  came  back 
almost  at  the  same  time  that  I  entered. 

"  Dear  Faust,"  said  she  to  me,  and  her  cheeks  burned  with  an 
unnatural  red  :  "  Both  you  and  1  stand  here  as  accused  or  rather 
condemned  persons,"  and  she  thereupon  related  what  had  occurred, 
continuing  thus:  "I  am  expected  to  justify  myself,  and  there  is 
no  one  before  whom  I  need  justify  myself  but  God — the  judge  of 
all  hearts.  Here  I  have  only  to  acknowledge  the  truth,  as  my 
father  requires  it ;  and  to  declare  my  unchangeable  determina- 
tions. Fate  wills  it,  and  I — was  born  to  misfortune.  Faust,  I 
should  be  unworthy  of  your  esteem,  if  I  could  not  rise  above 
misfortune." 

She  approached  the  Prince,  and  said  :  "  I  respect  you,  but  I  do 
not  love  you.    My  hand  will  never  be  yours — nourish  no  future 


78 


ZSCHO^KE'S  TALES. 


hopes  that  it  will.  After  what  has  now  taken  place,  I  must  beg 
you  to  avoid  us  in  future.  Do  not  expect  that  my  father  will 
force  my  inclinations.  Life  is  indifferent  to  me.  His  first  act 
of  violence  would  have  no  other  consequence  but  that  of  obliging 
him  to  bury  his  daughter's  body.  I  have  no  more  to  say  to  you. 
To  you,  my  father,  I  must  acknowledge  that  I  love — love  this 
Faust,  but  I  cannot  help  it.  You  dislike  him  ;  he  is  not  of  our 
rank  ;  he  must  part  from  us.  My  earthly  ties  with  him  are 
sundered,  but  my  heart  remains  his.  You,  my  father,  can  make 
no  change,  for  every  attempt  to  do  so  will  hasten  my  death.  I 
tell  you  this  beforehand  ;  I  am  prepared  for  death,  for  only  with 
death  will  my  misfortunes  end." 

She  stopped.  The  Count  wished  to  speak  and  the  Prince  like- 
wise, but  she  motioned  them  to  be  silent.  Approaching  me,  she 
drew  a  ring  from  her  finger,  gave  it  me,  saying,  "  My  friend,  I 
part  from  you,  perhaps,  for  ever.  Take  this  ring  as  a  remem- 
brance of  me.  This  gold  and  these  diamonds  will  turn  to  dust, 
ere  my  love  and  my  truth  shall  cease.  Do  not  forget  me  !" 
When  she  had  uttered  these  words,  she  laid  her  arm  upon  my 
shoulder,  pressed  a  kiss  upon  my  lips,  turned  pale  and  cold,  and 
with  closed  eyes  fell  to  the  earth. 

The  Count  Von  Hormegg  gave  a  piercing,  fearful  scream.  The 
Prince  called  for  aid.  I  carried  that  lovely  form  to  a  sofa ; 
chambermaids  hastened  in;  physicians  were  called.  I  lay  un- 
conscious beside  that  couch  upon  my  knees,  holding  to  my  cheek 
the  cold  hand  of  the  lifeless  maiden.  The  Count  tore  me  away. 
He  was  in  a  frenzy,  and  thundered  at  me  these  words — "  Thou 
hast  murdered  her  !  Fly,  wretch,  and  never  show  thy  face 
again  !"  He  pushed  me  out  of  the  door,  and  at.  his  command  the 
Chasseurs  dragged  me  down  the  steps  in  front  of  the  Castle.  Se- 
bald  stood  near  the  stables.  As  soon  as  he  was  aware  of  my  pres- 
ence, he  hastened  up,  and  pulled  me  with  him  to  the  stalls  where 
the  saddled  horses  stood.  Here  I  swooned,  and  as  Sebald  after- 
wards told  me,  1  lay  lifeless  for  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  upon 
the  floor.  I  had  scarcely  recovered  when  he  lifted  me  upon  one 
of  the  horses,  and  we  trotted  off.  I  rode  as  if  in  my  sleep,  and 
was  often  in  danger  of  falling.  It  was  only  by  degrees  that  I  re- 
covered my  full  consciousness  and  strength. 


ILLUMINATION;  OR,  THE  SLEEP-WAKER. 


79 


I  now  remembered  clearly  the  past.  I  became  desperate.  I 
wished  to  return  to  the  castle  and  learn  Hortensia's  fate,  for  we 
had  rode  no  more  than  two  miles.  Sebald  entreated  me  by  all 
the  Saints  to  abandon  so  frantic  a  design,  but  it  was  useless.  I 
had  but  just  turned  my  horse  about  when  I  saw  some  horsemen 
approaching  me  at  a  full  gallop.  "  Cursed  murderer  !"  called  out 
a  voice  to  me,  and  it  was  Carlo's  voice.  At  the  same  time  some 
shot  reached  me.  As  I  grasped  my  pistols,  my  horse  fell  dead. 
I  sprang  up.  Carlo  rode  towards  we  with  his  drawn  sword,  and 
when  he  would  have  cut  me  down,  I  shot  hirn  through  the  body. 
As  he  fell,  his  companions  caught  him.  Sebald  followed  them  in 
their  flight,  and  sent  some  balls  after  them.  He  then  returned, 
took  the  portmanteau  from  the  dead  horse,  made  me  mount  with 
him,  and  we  hurried  away  at  a  quick  pace. 

This  affray  had  occurred  in  the  vicinity  of  a  little  wood,  which 
we  soon  reached.  The  sun  had  already  set.  We  rode  the  whole 
night  without  knowing  whither.  When  we  stopped  at  daybreak 
at  a  village  inn  to  rest  our  horse,  we  found  him  so  injured  by  the 
saddle,  that  we  were  obliged  to  give  up  all  hope  of  using  him  far- 
ther. We  sold  him  for  almost  nothing  and  continued  our  flight  on 
foot  by  safer  bye-roads,  carrying  our  luggage  ourselves. 


NEW  ADVENTURES. 

The  first  rays  of  the  rising  sun  fell  glittering  upon  the  dia- 
monds of  Hortensia's  ring.  I  kissed  it,  weeping.  Sebald  had 
told  me  that  in  the  night,  while  I  lay  in  a  swoon  beside  the 
horses,  a  groom  had  said  to  him,  that  they  thought  the  Countess 
at  first  dead,  but  she  had  returned  to  life.  This  news  strengthen- 
ed and  comforted  me.  To  my  own  fate  I  was  utterly  indifferent. 
Hortensia's  elevation  of  soul  had  inspired  me.  I  was  proud  of 
my  misfortunes.  My  conscience  free  from  reproach,  I  was  rais- 
ed above  all  fear.  I  had  but  one  sorrow — that  of  eternal  separa- 
tion from  one  whom  I  must  love  eternally. 

On  reaching  Ravenna  we  took  our  first  day's  rest,  for  I  was  ill 
from  the  exhaustion  produced  by  exciting  scenes,  and  the  im- 


80 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


mense  exertions  I  had  made.  For  two  whole  weeks  I  lay  ill  of 
a  fever.  Sebald  was  in  a  terrible  state  of  anxiety,  for  he  feared, 
with  some  reason,  that  the  death  of  the  Prince  would  necessarily 
bring  us  into  the  hands  of  justice.  He  had  given  us  both  feigned 
names,  and  procured  some  different  clothing.  My  good  constitu- 
tion quickly  restored  me,  rather  than  any  skill  of  the  physician, 
though  great  weakness  remained  in  all  my  limbs.  As  we  had 
determined,  however,  to  ship  from  Rimini  for  Trieste,  I  hoped  to 
recover  upon  the  passage. 

Sebald  came  to  me  one  evening  in  a  great  fright,  and  said, 
"  Sir,  we  can  remain  here  no  longer.  A  stranger  stands  out  there 
who  wishes  to  speak  to  you.  We  are  discovered.  He  first  ask- 
ed me  my  name.  I  could  not  conceal  it,  and  then  he  asked  for 
you." 

"  Let  him  come  in,"  said  I. 

A  well-dressed  man  entered,  who,  after  the  first  exchange  of 
politeness,  inquired  after  my  health.  When  I  assured  him  that  I 
was  quite  well,  he  said  :  "  So  much  the  better,  I  will  then  give 
you  some  good  advice.  You  know  what  passed  between  Prince 
Carlo  and  yourself.  He  is  out  of  clanger,  but  has  sworn  your 
death.  You  had  therefore  better  get  out  of  his  way.  You  now  in- 
tend going  to  Germany  by  the  way  of  Trieste.  Donotdothis.  There 
is  no  ship  for  Trieste  at  Rimini,  but  there  is  a  Neapolitan  vessel 
returning  to  Naples.  You  arc  safe  when  once  upon  the  sea. 
Otherwise,  you  will  either  be  arrested  in  a  few  hours,  or  assassi- 
nated. Here  is  a  letter  for  the  Neapolitan  Captain,  he  is  a  good 
friend  of  mine.  He  will  receive  you  with  pleasure.  Only  be- 
take yourself  quickly  to  Rimini  and  thence  to  Naples." 

I  was  not  a  little  embarrassed  at  finding  this  stranger  so  well 
informed.  On  my  questioning  him  as  to  his  means  of  informa- 
tion, he  only  smiled  and  replied  :  "  I  know  nothing  more,  neither 
can  I  tell  you  aught  more.  I  live  here  in  Ravenna,  and  am  a 
clerk  of  the  Court.  Save  yourself!"  With  these  words  he 
left  us. 

Sebald  affirmed  stoutly  that  the  man  must  be  possessed  by  the 
Devil,  or  he  would  not  have  been  so  well  acquainted  with  our 
secrets.  As  the  stranger  spoke  to  the  people  of  the  inn,  we 
learned  from  them  afterwards  that  he  was  a  clerk  of  the  Court, 


ILLUMINATION  ;  OR,  THE  SLEEP- WAKER. 


81 


and  a  good,  honourable  man,  well  to  do  in  the  world,  and  married. 
How  he  could  have  known  our  secret  plans  of  going  through 
Trieste  to  Germany,  was  incomprehensible  to  me,  for  none  were 
aware  of  it  but  ourselves.  The  enigma,  however,  was  quickly 
solved  when  Sebald  acknowledged  that,  during  my  sickness,  he 
had  written  a  letter  to  his  former  comrade  Caspar,  at  Battaglia,  beg- 
ging to  know  whether  the  Prince  had  been  killed.  He  waited  in 
vain  for  an  answer.  The  letter  had  fallen,  without  doubt,  into  the 
hands  of  Carlo  or  his  people,  or  else  its  contents  had  been  discover- 
ed in  some  other  way. 

Sebald  was  now,  for  the  first  time,  actually  alarmed.  He 
hired  a  coach  without  delay  for  Rimini,  and  we  set  out  that  same 
night.  All  these  circumstances  did  not  please  me  particularly. 
I  did  not  know  whether  I  was  flying  from  the  danger,  or  running 
to  meet  it.  The  Clerk  of  the  Court  might  be  in  the  Prince's  ser- 
vice. In  the  meantime,  we  not  only  reached  Rimini,  but  found 
the  Neapolitan  Captain  also.  I  gave  him  the  Clerk's  letter — I 
do  not  deny  having  opened  and  read  it, — and  soon  entered  into  an 
agreement  for  our  passage  to  Naples.  The  wind  became  fair, 
and  the  anchors  were  raised. 

There  were  some  passengers  on  board  the  ship  besides  our- 
selves, amongst  others  a  young  man,  whom  at  first  I  was  not 
much  pleased  to  see,  for  I  remembered  having  met  him  once,  cas- 
ually, at  the  Baths  of  Battaglia.  I  was  tranquillized,  however, 
by  gathering  from  his  discourse  that  he  had  not  noticed  me,  and 
that  I  was  an  utter  stranger  to  him.  He  had  only  left  Battaglia 
three  days  before,  to  return  to  Naples,  where  he  said  he  carried 
on  a  considerable  business.  He  told  of  the  acquaintances  he  had 
made  at  those  Baths,  and  mentioned  incidentally  a  German 
Countess,  who  was  a  wonder  of  grace  and  beauty. — How  my 
heart  beat !  He  appeared  'to  know  nothing  of  the  Prince's  being 
either  wounded  or  dead.  The  Countess,  whose  name  he  had  for- 
gotten, had  left  four  days  before  his-  departure,  whither  he  had 
not  taken  the  trouble  to  inquire. 

Uncertain  as  was  this  information,  it  yet  served  to  calm  me 
considerably.  Hortensia  lived — Hortensia  was  well.  "  May  she 
be  happy  !"  was  my  sigh.  The  voyage  was  tedious  to  all  but 
myself.    I  sought  for  solitude.    For  many  nights  I  watched  on 

PART  II.  7 


82 


ZSCHOKKE  S  TALES. 


the  deck,  dreaming  of  Hortensia.  The  young  merchant  (his 
name  was  Tufaldini)  observed  my  melancholy,  and  took  much 
pains  to  enliven  me.  He  heard  that  I  was  an  artist  ;  he  loved 
the  art  passionately,  and  constantly  directed  our  conversation  to 
this  subject,  as  it  was  the  only  one  that  could  dissipate  my  sad- 
ness, and  make  me  conversational.  His  sympathy  and  friendship 
went  so  far  as  to  offer  me  a  seat  at  his  table  and  a  room  in  his 
house  at  Naples,  an  offer  I  was  the  less  inclined  to  refuse,  as  I 
was  quite  a  stranger  there,  and  Sebald's  and  my  common  purse 
had  melted  away  very  considerably,  particularly  after  deducting 
our  travelling  expenses. 


A  NEW  WONDER. 

The  kindness  and  attention  of  the  noble  Tufaldini  was  actually 
humiliating  to  me.  From  a  travelling  companion  he  had  made 
me  a  friend,  although  I  had  done  little  or  nothing,  either  to  win 
his  love,  or  to  deserve  it.  He  presented  me,  as  a  friend,  to  his 
venerable  old  mother  and  his  charming  young  wife.  They  pre- 
pared one  of  their  best  rooms  for  myself  and  Sebald — and  from  the 
first  day  of  our  arrival,  treated  me  as  if  I  were  an  old  friend  of 
the  family.  Nor  was  he  satisfied  with  this.  He  introduced  me 
to  all  his  friends,  and  orders  for  pictures  soon  followed.  He  was 
as  eager  to  gain  me  a  reputation  as  if  it  were  for  his  own  advan- 
tage. He  even  consented  finally  to  accepting  payment  for  my 
board  and  lodging,  although  at  first  he  was  offended  when  I  pro- 
posed it ;  but  seeing  my  determination  to  leave  his  house,  if  he 
would  receive  no  compensation,  he  took  the  money  more  to  gratify 
me  than  to  repay  himself. 

My  works  succeeded  beyond  my  expectations.  My  pictures 
were  liked,  I  received  my  own  price,  and  when  one  order  was 
finished,  another  was  sure  to  follow  in  its  train.  Sebald  was  so 
well  satisfied  with  Naples,  that  he  even  forgot  his  home-sickness. 
He  thanked  God  for  having  escaped  from  the  service  of  Count 
Von  Hormegg  with  a  whole  skin,  and,  as  he  expressed  it,  would 


ILLUMINATION  ;  OR,  THE  SLEEP- VVAKER. 


83 


rather  serve  me  for  bread  and  water  than  the  Count  for  a  dish  full 
of  gold. 

My  plan  was  to  earn  sufficient  by  my  labour  to  go  to  Germany, 
and  settle  there  in  some  little  hermitage.  I  was  industrious  and 
economical,  and  thus  a  year  passed.  The  love  shown  me  by  the 
Tufaldini  family,  the  quiet  life  I  led  in  that  great  and  seductive 
city,  the  charms  of  their  soft  skies,  and  the  thought  that  in  Ger- 
many I  was  without  friends  and  without  vocation,  made  me  aban- 
don the  first  design,  and  I  stayed  where  I  was.  Joy  bloomed  for 
me  as  little  upon  a  German  as  an  Italian  soil,  only  the  thought 
that  Hortensia  might  perhaps  be  living  upon  her  father's  estate, 
and  that  I  might  yet  have  the  consolation  of  seeing  her  once,  if 
only  at  a  distance — kindled  my  desire  to  return  to  the  north.  But 
when  I  recollected  the  words  which  she  used  in  that  parting  hour : 
"  My  earthly  ties  to  him  are  sundered  !''  when  she  renounced  me 
before  her  father  with  such  solemnity  and  heroic  devotion,  my 
own  courage  rose  at  the  thought  and  I  determined  to  endure  all 
things  cheerfully.  I  was  an  oak  which  the  storm  had  shattered, 
without  branches,  without  leaves,  solitary,  unloved,  dying  in  its 
loneliness. 

They  say  that  time  heals  the  deepest  wounds  with  a  benevolent 
hand.  I  myself  believed  the  saying,  but  I  found  it  untrue.  My 
melancholy  continued  the  same.  I  avoided  the  gay.  Tears  often 
gave  me  relief,  and  my  only  joy  was  to  dream  of  her,  as  T  saw 
her  in  her  majesty  and  beauty.  Her  ring  was  my  sacred  relic. 
Had  it  fallen  to  the  depths  of  the  sea,  nothing  could  have  hindered 
me  from  plunging  after  it. 

The  second  year  passed  away,  bat  not  my  sorrow.  But  in  the 
darkest  hours,  I  comforted  myself  with  a  faint  gleam  of  hope  that 
perhaps  an  accident  might  bring  me  near  to  my  lost  mistress,  or 
at  least  give  me  some  news  of  her.  I  knew  there  was  not  much 
probability  in  this,  for  how  could  she,  so  distant,  know,  after  the 
lapse  of  years,  where  I  lived  in  retirement  ?  But  little  !  He  who 
hopes,  thinks  little  about  impossibilities!  Yet  after  the  lapse  of 
two  years  even  this  hope  was  lost.  Hortensia  was  dead  to  me. 
In  my  dreams  I  saw  her  as  a  heavenly  being  resplendent  with 
the  glory  of  an  angel. 

In  our  confidential  conversations,  Tufaldini  and  his  wife  had 


b4 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


often  required  the  cause  of  my  sadness,  but  I  could  never  prevail 
upon  myself  to  disclose  the  secret.  They  ceased  questioning  me, 
but  they  were  more  careful  of  my  health.  I  perceived  that  my 
own  powers  and  life  were  sinking.  The  thought  of  the  grave 
was  sweet  to  me. 

All  was  suddenly  changed.  .  One  morning  Sebald  brought  me 
the  letters  which  had  arrived  by  the  post ;  among  them  were  some 
orders  for  pictures  and  a  small  casket.  I  opened  it.  Who  can 
imagine  my  joyful  surprise  ? — I  saw  Hortensia's  image,  living, 
beautiful,  but  in  the  black  dress  of  mourning — the  face  more 
delicate,  thin,  and  pale  than  when  I  had  known  her. — Three 
words  were  written  in  Hortensia's  hand  upon  the  paper  accompa- 
nying it :  "  My  Emanuel,  hope  /" 

I  Tan  about  the  room  like  an  intoxicated  person  ;  I  sank  down 
in  a  chair  speechless  ;  I  raised  my  clasped  hands  towards  Heaven. 
I  shouted  and  sobbed  with  joy  ;  I  kissed  the  image  and  the  paper 
which  her  hand  must  have  touched  ;  I  knelt  and  thanked  Provi- 
dence weeping,  my  face  bowed  to  the  earth. 

Thus  Sebald  found  me.  He  thought  me  crazy,  and  he  was  not 
mistaken.  I  feel  that  man  is  always  stronger  to  bear  misfortune 
than  happiness,  for  he  is  always  more  or  less  prepared  against 
the  advances  of  the  first,  but  against  those  of  the  last  he  is  fear- 
less and  unprepared. 

My  hopes  bloomed  anew,  and  with  them  my  health  and  my  life. 
Tufaldini  and  all  my  acquaintances  were  delighted.  I  now  ex- 
pected from  day  to  day  further  news  of  my  much  loved  one. 
There  was  no  doubt  of  her  being  acquainted  with  my  place 
of  sojourn,  although  I  could  not  exactly  make  out  how  she  had 
ascertained  it.  But  from  what  part  of  the  world  did  her  picture 
come  ?  My  inquiries  and  conjectures  upon  this  subject  were  all 
fruitless. 


THE  SOLUTION. 

At  the  end  of  eight  months  I  received  another  note  from  her. 
It  contained  the  following  brief  lines :  "  I  would  like  to  see  thee, 


ILLUMINATION;  OR,  THE  SLEEP-WAKER. 


85 


Emanuel,  once  more.    Be  in  Leghorn  the  first  morning  of  May 

at  the  Swiss  Banking  House  of  Thou  wilt  have  further 

information  by  inquiring  for  the  widow  Mariana  Schwartz,  who 
will  direct  you  to  my  dwelling.  Tell  no  one  in  Naples  where 
thou  goest,  least  of  all  speak  of  me.  I  exist  no  longer  for  any  one 
in  the  world,  unless  it  be  for  a  few  moments  with  thee." 

This  letter  filled  me  with  new  rapture,  yet  a  mysterious 
sadness  that  was  visible  in  its  tone,  filled  me  with  anxious  fore- 
boding. To  see  that  glorious  creature  again,  if  only  for  a  few 
moments,  was  all  that  my  soul  required.  In  April  I  left  Tufal- 
dinrs  house  in  Naples  with  regret.  Sebald  and  the  rest  all  sup- 
posed  that  I  was  going  back  to  Germany. 

I  arrived  at  Gaeta  with  Sebald.  Here  we  had  an  unexpected 
pleasure.  In  riding  past  the  garden  gate  of  a  villa,  outside  the 
city,  I  saw  Miss  Cecilia  with  several  ladies.  I  stopped,  sprang 
from  my  horse,  and  made  myself  known  to  her.  She  led  me 
into  a  circle  of  her  relations,  for  she  had  been  married  atout  three 
weeks.  From  her  I  learned  that  she  had  left  Hortensia  a  year 
before.  She  could  not  tell  me  her  abode,  only  that  she  had  en- 
tered a  convent.  "The  Count  Von  Hormegg  died  more  than  a 
year  since,"  said  Cecilia.  "  We  soon  perceived,  from  the  sudden 
retrenchment  of  customary  expenses,  that  he  must  have  left  his 
affairs  in  very  great  disorder.  The  Countess  reduced  her  train 
of  domestics  to  a  very  few  persons.  I  had  the  honour  of  being 
retained  by  her.  But  when  she  lost  all  hope,  through  an  unlucky 
law-suit,  of  retaining  any  portion  of  her  paternal  estate,  which  was 
mortgaged,  we  were  dismissed.  She  kept  only  one  old  attendant, 
and  declared  that  she  would  end  her  days  in  a  cloister.  Oh  how 
many  tears  this  parting  cost  us  !  Hortensia  was  an  angel,  and  never 
more  beautiful,  more  enchanting,  or  more  exalted,  than  when  under 
the  heaviest  blows  of  fate.  She  renounced  all  her  accustomed 
splendour,  divided  the  riches  of  her  wardrobe,  like  a  dying  person, 
amongst  the  attendants  she  had  dismissed,  rewarded  all  with 
such  princely  munificence,  that  she  must  have  put  herself  in 
danger  of  want,  and  only  begged  of  us  to  remember  her  in  our 
prayers.  I  left  her  in  Milan,  to  return  to  my  family,  who  live 
here.  She  gave  out  that  she  was  going  to  Germany,  to  seek 
there  the  solitude  of  a  cloister." 


86 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


This  narrative  of  Cecilia's  explained  to  me  at  once  the  mystery 
in  Hortensia's  last  letter.  She  also  told  me  that  Carlo,  who  had 
been  wounded  badly,  but  hot  mortally,  had  entered  the  service  of 
the  Knights  of  Malta,  immediately  after  his  recovery,  and  had 
soon  after  died. 

I  left  Gaeta  with  mixed  feelings  of  joy  and  sorrow.  Horten- 
sia's misfortunes,  and  the  loss  of  her  father,  awakened  my  pity, 
but  kindled,  at  the  same  time,  more  presumptuous  hopes  than  I 
had  ever  dared  to  conceive.  I  flattered  myself  that  I  should  per- 
naps  be  able  to  turn  her  from  her  resolution  to  seek  a  convent, 
and  with  her  heart,  perhaps,  to  win  her  hand.  My  brain  was 
dizzy  with  the  thought  of  sharing  with  Hortensia  the  fruits  of  my 
labour.  This  was  my  constant  dream  upon  the  whole  journey  to 
Leghorn,  where  I  arrived  one  fine  morning,  eight  days  before  the 
appointed  time. 

1  did  not  delay  a  moment  in  seeking  the  Swiss  banker,  to  whom 
I  had  been  directed.  I  ran  there  in  my  travelling  apparel,  and 
begged  for  the  address  of  the  widow  Schwartz,  that  I  might  learn 
at  once  whether  the  Countess  had  already  arrived  at  Leghorn. 
A  servant  conducted  me  to  the  widow,  who  lived  in  a  plain-looking 
house,  in  a  retired  street.  I  was  much  vexed  to  learn  that  Mrs. 
Schwartz  was  out,  and  was  told  I  might  call  again  in  two  hours. 
Every  moment  of  delay  was  so  much  stolen  from  my  life. 

At  the  appointed  hour  I  returned.  An  old  maid-servant  opened 
the  door,  led  me  up  the  stairs,  and  announced  me  to  her  mistress. 
I  had  been  shown  into  a  simply-furnished,  but  neat  room.  A 
lady  sat  upon  a  sofa  opposite  the  door.  She  did  not  appear  to 
have  noticed  my  entrance,  not  having  returned  my  salutation. 
With  both  hands  before  her  face,  she  sought  to  hide  her  tears 
and  sobs. 

At  this  sight,  a  feverish  trembling  ran  through  me.  In  the 
form  of  the  widow,  in  the  tone  of  her  sobs,  I  recognised  the  form 
and  voice  of  Hortensia. 

Without  reflecting,  or  waiting  to  assure  myself  of  the  fact,  I 
let  my  hat  and  cane  fall,  like  an  intoxicated  person,  and  threw 
myself  at  the  feet  of  her  who  wept.  Heavens  !  who  can  tell  my 
rapture  ?  Hortensia's  arms  were  about  my  neck,  my  lips  met 
hers.    All  the  past  was  forgotten,  all  the  future  was  an  eternity 


ILLUMINATION  ;  OR,  THE  SLEEP-WAKER. 


87 


of  joy.  Never  was  love  more  beautifully  rewarded — never  was 
constancy  more  blessed.  We  both  feared  lest  those  joyful  mo- 
ments should  have  been  only  a  dream.  During  the  whole  of  that 
day  we  asked  and  answered  questions,  in  so  disconnected  a  manner, 
that  we  parted  at  night  without  knowing  more  of  each  other,  than 
that  we  had  met. 

You  may  believe  that  I  was  ready  in  good  season  to  accept  of  an 
invitation  to  breakfast  from  the  charming  Hortensia.  Her  servants 
consisted  of  a  cook,  a  chambermaid,  a  lady's-maid,  a  coachman, 
and  a  Chasseu?'.  All  the  service  was  of  the  finest  China  or  silver ; 
but  the  ancestral  arms  and  initials  were  missing.  There  was  a 
look  of  affluence,  which  did  not  correspond  with  the  representa- 
tions given  me,  and  which  was  far  beyond  what  my  limited  for- 
tune could  afford — rather  mortifying,  when  I  thought  of  the  proj- 
ects in  which  I  had  revelled  during  my  voyage  from  Gaeta  to 
Livorno.  I  expected,  and  even  wished,  to  find  Hortensia  in 
rather  straitened  circumstances,  that  I  might  have  courage  to 
offer  her  all  that  I  possessed.  But  I  stood  before  her  again  as  a 
poor  painter. 

In  our  private  conversation,  I  did  not  conceal  from  her  what  I 
heard  at  Gaeta  from  Cecilia,  nor  the  feelings,  the  resolves,  and 
the  hopes  which  it  had  awakened.  I  told  her  of  my  blighted 
projects — how  she  had,  perhaps,  taken  the  terrible  resolution  of 
sacrificing  youth  and  beauty  within  the  walls  of  a  convent — how 
she  had  consented  to  choose  me  for  her  servant  and  most  true 
friend — how  I  would  have  laid  my  savings,  and  all  the  fruit  of  my 
future  industry,  at  her  feet.  I  painted  to  her,  in  the  colours  of 
love  and  hope,  the  blessedness  of  a  quiet  country  life,  in  some  re- 
mote place — the  simple  house,  with  its  little  garden — the  studio  of 

the  artist,  inspired  by  her  presence  I  trembled.    I  could  not 

go  on.  Her  eyes  fell ;  a  beautiful  colour  spread  over  her  cheeks. 
Thus  have  I  dreamed !  added  I,  after  a  long  pause,  and  it  should 
not  have  been. 

Hortensia  rose,  went  to  a  closet  and  took  out  an  ebony  box, 
richly  mounted  in  silver,  and  handed  it  to  me  with  the  key.  "  I 
requested  you  to  come  to  Leghorn  that  I  might  deliver  this  box 
into  your  hands.  It  will  aid  you  somewhat  in  the  fulfilment  of 
your  wishes,  but  not  entirely.    After  my  father's  death,  my  first 


68 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


thought  was  to  pay  the  debt  of  gratitude  I  owe  you.  I  had  never 
lost  sight  of  you  since  your  flight  from  Battaglia.  By  lucky 
chance  a  letter  from  your  man  at  Ravenna  to  one  of  my  own 
servants,  detailing  the  route  you  proposed,  fell  into  my  hands. 

"  In  a  private  conversation  with  Mr.  Tufaldini  of  Naples,  he 
was  induced  by  me  to  promise  to  make  you  one  of  his  family. 
He  received  a  small  capital  to  defray  all  expenses,  and  which  he 
could  draw  upon,  if  necessary,  for  your  support.  I  have  also  re- 
warded him  for  his  trouble,  although  the  good  man  took  my  little 
presents  rather  unwillingly.  In  return,  I  had  the  pleasure  of 
hearing  of  your  welfare  every  month.  Since  our  separation, 
Tufaldini's  letters  have  been  my  only  comfort. 

"  After  the  death  of  my  father,  on  account  of  his  estate,  I  had  a 
dissension  with  my  relatives.  Our  lands  went  to  the  male  heirs. 
All  the  rest  I  turned  into  gold.  I  had  given  up  returning  to  my 
native  country — my  last  refuge  was  to  be  a  cloister.  Under  the 
cloak  of  poverty,  I  withdrew  from  all  my  father's  old  associates, 
and  dismissed  all  my  retainers ;  took  the  name  and  position  of  a 
citizen,  that  I  might  live  in  greater  retirement.  Not  until  all  this 
was  accomplished  did  I  call  upon  you  to  finish  my  work,  and  to 
release  me  from  the  vow  I  had  made  to  Heaven.  The  moment 
is  here.  You  have  told  me  beautiful  dreams  ;  but  turn  with  me 
now  to  realities  for  a  short  time." 

She  opened  the  box  and  drew  forth  a  package,  carefully  wrap- 
ped up,  and  also  some  papers  addressed  to  me.  She  broke  the  seal 
of  one  of  them,  and  laid  before  me  a  will,  made  in  all  due  form, 
by  which  I  was  to  receive  an  immense  sum,  partly  for  debts 
which  were  unpaid  ;  partly  for  the  interest  which  had  been  suf- 
fered to  accumulate ;  partly  as  a  legacy  from  the  widow  Mari- 
ana Schwartz,  and  all  in  bank-notes  of  various  countries. 

"  This,  dear  Faust,  is  your  property,"  continued  the  Countess; 
"  your  well-earned  and  well-deserved  property.  I  have  no  fur- 
ther share  in  it.  I  have  enough  left  for  a  modest  income.  When 
I  renounce  the  world  and  belong  to  a  convent,  you  will  inherit  a 
part  of  what  I  possess.  If  you  really  esteem  me,  you  will  show 
it  by  keeping  the  secret  of  my  birth,  rank,  and  true  name,  and 
that  you  will  not  utter  a  syllable  of  thanks,  nor  decline  receiving 
your  own  property.    Give  me  your  promise  !" 


ILLUMINATION  ;  OR,  THE  SLEEP-WAKER.  89 


I  heard  her  say  this  with  astonishment  and  sorrow.  I  pushed 
the  papers  aside  with  indifference.  "  Do  you  then  believe  that 
these  bank-notes  are  of  any  value  to  me  ?  I  shall  neither  refuse 
them  nor  thank  you  for  them.  Do  not  expect  that  I  shall  do  ei- 
ther. If  you  enter  a  cloister,  all  besides,  even  the  world  itself, 
would  be  hateful  to  me.  I  need  nothing.  What  you  give  me  is 
but  dust.  Oh,  Hortensia !  you  once  said  that  it  was  my  soul  that 
animated  you.  If  it  were  now  thus,  you  would  not  hesitate  to 
follow  my  example.  I  would  burn  the  bank-notes.  What  should 
I  want  of  them  ?  Destroy  your  fortune,  become  poor  and  become 
mine — oh,  Hortensia,  mine  " 

She  bent  towards  me,  clasped  both  my  hands  in  hers  with  agi- 
tation, and  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  said  earnestly,  "  Am  I  not  so 
now,  Emanuel  ?" 

"  But  the  cloister  ?" 

"  My  last  refuge  when  thou  leavest  me." 

There  we  made  our  covenant  before  God.  At  the  altar  it  was 
consecrated  by  the  hand  of  a  priest.  We  left  Leghorn,  and 
sought  this  charming  solitude,  where  we  now  dwell  with  our  chil- 
dren. F.  B.  &  P.  G. 


NOTE. 

The  Inward  Sight. — It  seems  that  this  story  has  some  reference  to  a  pe- 
culiarity in  Zschokke's  constitution,  by  which  he  was  endowed  with  a  clairvoy- 
ance similar  to  that  he  has  ascribed  to  Hortensia.  In  his  Autobiography, 
he  speaks  of  it  as  "  a  singular  case  of  prophetic  gift  which  I  called  my  inward 
sight,  but  which  has  ever  been  enigmatical  to  me."  He  adds  the  following  in 
regard  to  it :  "  I  am  almost  afraid  to  speak  of  this,  not  because  I  am  afraid  to 
be  thought  superstitious,  but  lest  I  should  strengthen  such  feelings  in  others. 
And  yet  it  may  be  an  addition  to  our  stock  of  soul  experiences,  and  therefore 
I  will  confess.  It  is  well  known  that  the  judgment  we  not  seldom  form  at  the 
first  glance  of  persons  hitherto  unknown  is  more  correct  than  that  which  is  the 
result  of  longer  acquaintance.  The  first  impression  that  through  some  instinct 
of  the  soul  attracts  or  repels  us  with  slfangers  is  afterwards  weakened  or  de- 
stroyed by  custom  or  by  different  appearances.  We  speak  in  such  cases  of 
sympathies  or  antipathies,  and  perceive  these  effects  frequently  among  children 
to  whom  experience  in  human  character  is  wholly  wanting.  Others  are  in- 
credulous on  this  point,  and  have  recourse  to  physiognomy.  Now  for  my 
own  case, 


90 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


"  It  has  happened  to  me  sometimes,  on  my  first  meeting  with  strangers,  as  I 
listened  silently  to  their  discourse,  that  their  former  life,  with  many  trifling 
circumstances  therewith  connected,  or  frequently  some  particular  scene  in  that 
life,  has  passed  quite  involuntarily,  and  as  it  were  dream-like,  yet  perfectly  dis- 
tinct before  me.  During  this  time  I  usually  feel  so  entirely  absorbed  in  the 
contemplation  of  the  stranger- life,  that  at  last  I  no  longer  see  clearly  the  face 
of  the  unknown  wherein  I  undesignedly  read,  nor  distinctly  hear,  the  voices  of 
the  speakers,  which  before  served  in  some  measure  as  a  commentary  to  the 
text  of  their  features.  For  a  long  time  I  held  such  visions  as  delusions  of  the 
fancy,  and  the  more  so  as  they  showed  me  even  the  dress  and  motions  of  the 
actors,  rooms,  furniture,  and  other  accessories.  By  way  of  jest  I  once  in  a 
familiar  family  circle  at  Kirchberg  related  the  secret  history  of  a  seamstress 
who  had  just  left  the  room  and  the  house.  I  had  never  seen  her  before  in  my 
life  ;  people  were  astonished  and  laughed,  but  were  not  to  be  persuaded  that  I 
did  not  previously  know  the  relations  of  which  I  spoke,  for  what  I  had  uttered 
was  the  literal  truth  ;  I  on  my  part  was  no  less  astonished  that  my  dream- 
pictures  were  confirmed  by  the  reality.  I  became  more  attentive  to  the 
subject,  and  when  propriety  admitted  it,  I  would  relate  to  those  whose 
life  thus  passed  before  me  the  subject  of  my  vision,  that  I  might  thereby 
obtain  confirmation  or  refutation  of  it.  It  was  invariably  ratified,  not  without 
consternation  on  their  part.*  I  myself  had  less  confidence  than  any  one  in 
this  mental  jugglery.  So  often  as  I  revealed  my  visionary  gifts  to  any  new 
person,  I  regularly  expected  to  hear  the  answer  :  '  It  was  not  so.'  I  felt  a 
secret  shudder  when  my  auditors  replied  that  it  was  true,  or  when  their  aston- 
ishment betrayed  my  accuracy  before  they  spoke.  Instead  of  many  I  will 
mention  one  example,  which  pre-eminently  astounded  me.  One  fair  day  in 
the  city  of  Waldshut,  I  entered  an  inn  (the  Vine),  in  company  with  two  young 
student-foresters ;  we  were  tired  with  rambling  through  the  woods.  We 
supped  with  a  numerous  society  at  the  table -d'hote  where  the  guests  were 
making  very  merry  with  the  peculiarities  and  eccentricities  of  the  Swiss,  with 
Mesmer's  magnetism,  Lavater's  physiognomy,  &c,  &c.  One  of  my  compan- 
ions, whose  national  pride  was  wounded  by  their  mockery,  begged  me  to  make 
some  reply,  particularly  to  a  handsome  young  man  who  sat  opposite  us,  and 
who  had  allowed  himself  extraordinary  license.  This  man's  former  life  was  at 
that  moment  presented  to  my  mind.  I  turned  to  him  and  asked  whether  he 
would  answer  me  candidly  if  I  related  to  him  some  of  the  most  secret  passages 
of  his  life,  I  knowing  as  little  of  him  personally  as  he  did  of  me  ?  That  would 
be  going  a  little  further,  I  thought,  than  Lavater  did  with  his  physiognomy. 
He  promised,  if  I  were  correct  in  my  information,  to  admit  it  frankly.  I  then 
related  what  my  vision  had  shown  me,  and  the  whole  company  were  made 
acquainted  with  the  private  history  of  the  young  merchant  ;  his  school  years, 

*  "What  demon  inspires  you  7  Must  I  again  believe  in  possession?"  exclaimed  the 
spirituel  Johann  von  Riga,  when  in  the  first  hour  of  our  acquaintance  I  related  his  past 
life  to  him,  with  the  avowed  object  of  learning  whether  or  no  I  deceived  myself.  We 
speculated  long  on  the  enigma,  but  even  his  penetration  could  not  solve  it. 


ILLUMINATION  ;  OR,  THE  SLEEP- WAKER. 


91 


his  youthful  errors,  and  lastly  with  a  fault  committed  in  reference  to  the  strong 
box  of  his  principal.  I  described  to  him  the  uninhabited  room  with  whitened 
walls,  where,  lo  the  right  of  the  brown  door,  on  a  table,  stood  a  black  money- 
box, &c,  &c.  A  dead  silence  prevailed  during  the  whole  narration,  which  I 
alone  occasionally  interrupted  by  inquiring  whether  I  spoke  the  truth?  The 
startled  young  man  confirmed  every  particular,  and  even,  what  I  had  scarcely 
expected,  the  last  mentioned.  Touched  by  his  candour  I  shook  hands  with 
him  over  the  table  and  said  no  more.  He  asked  my  name,  which  I  gave  him, 
and  we  remained  together  talking  till  past  midnight.    He  is  probably  still  living  ! 

"  I  can  well  explain  to  myself  how  a  person  of  lively  imagination  may  form 
as  in  a  romance,  a  correct  picture  of  the  actions  and  passions  of  another  per- 
son, of  a  certain  character,  under  certain  circumstances.  But  whence  came 
those  trifling  accessories  which  no  wise  concerned  me,  and  in  relation  to  people 
for  the  most  part  indifferent  to  me,  with  whom  I  neither  had,  nor  desired  to 
have,  any  connexion  ?  Or,  was  the  whole  matter  a  constantly  recurring  acci- 
dent ?  Or,  had  my  auditor,  perhaps,  when  I  related  the  particulars  of  his 
former  life  very  different  views  to  give  of  the  whole,  although  in  his  first  sur- 
prise, and  misled  by  some  resemblances,  he  had  mistaken  them  for  the  same  ? 
And  yet  impelled  by  this  very  doubt  I  had  several  times  given  myself  trouble 
to  speak  of  the  most  insignificant  things  which  my  waking  dream  had  reveal- 
ed to  me  I  shall  not  say  another  word  on  this  singular  gift  of  vision,  of  which 
I  cannot  say  it  was  ever  of  the  slightest  service  ;  it  manifested  itself  rarely, 
quite  independently  of  my  will,  and  several  times  in  reference  to  persons  whom 
I  cared  little  to  look  through.  Neither  am  I  the  only  person  in  possession  of 
this  power.  On  an  excursion  I  once  made  with  two  of  my  sons,  I  met  with 
an  old  Tyrolese  who  carried  oranges  and  lemons  about  the  country,  in  a  house 
of  public  entertainment,  in  Lower  Hanenstein,  one  of  the  passes  of  the  Jura. 
He  fixed  his  eyes  on  me  for  some  time,  then  mingled  in  the  conversation,  and 
said  that  he  knew  me,  although  he  knew  me  not,  and  went  to  relate  what  I 
had  done  and  striven  to  do  in  former  times,  to  the  consternation  of  the  country 
people  present,  and  the  great  admiration  of  my  children,  who  were  diverted  to 
find  another  person  gifted  like  (heir  father.  How  the  old  lemon  merchant  came 
by  his  knowledge  he  could  explain  neither  tc  me  nor  to  himself;  he  seemed, 
nevertheless,  to  value  himself  somewhat  upon  his  mysterious  wisdom." 


THE  BROKEI  CUP. 


THE  BROKEN  CUP.* 


There  is  extant,  under  this  name,  a  short  piece  by  the  author  of  Little 
Kate  of  Heilbronn.  That  and  the  tale  which  here  follows,  originated  in  an 
incident  which  took  place  at  Bern  in  the  year  1802.  Henry  Von  Kleist,  and 
Ludwig  Wieland,  the  son  of  the  poet,  were  both  friends  of  the  writer,  in  whose 
chamber  hung  an  engraving  called  La  cruche  cassee,  the  persons  and  con- 
tents of  which  resembled  the  scene  set  forth  below  under  the  head  of  The 
Tribunal.  The  drawing,  which  was  full  of  expression,  gave  great  delight  to 
those  who  saw  it,  and  led  to  many  conjectures  as  to  its  meaning.  The  three 
friends  agreed,  in  sport,  that  they  would  each  one  day  commit  to  writing,  his 
peculiar  interpretation  of  its  design.  Wieland  promised  a  satire  ;  Von  Kleist 
threw  off  a  comedy ;  and  the  author  of  the  following  tale,  what  is  here  given. 

MARIETTA. 

Napotjle,  it  is  true,  is  only  a  very  little  place  on  the  bay  of 
Cannes ;  yet  it  is  pretty  well  known  through  all  Provence.  It 
lies  in  the  shade  of  lofty  evergreen  palms,  and  darker  orange  trees  ; 
but  that  alone  would  not  make  it  renowned.  Still  they  say  that 
there  are  grown  the  most  luscious  grapes,  the  sweetest  roses,  and 
the  handsomest  girls.  I  don't  know  but  it  is  so ;  in  the  meantime 
I  believe  it  most  readily.  Pity  that  Napoule  is  so  small,  and 
cannot  produce  more  luscious  grapes,  fragrant  roses,  and  hand- 
some maidens ;  especially,  as  we  might  then  have  some  of  them 
transplanted  to  our  own  country. 

As,  ever  since  the  foundation  of  Napoule,  all  the  Napoulese 
women  have  been  beauties,  so  the  little  Marietta  was  a  wonder  of 
wonders,  as  the  chronicles  of  the  place  declare.  She  was  called 
the  little  Marietta  ;  yet  she  was  not  smaller  than  a  girl  of  seven- 
teen or  thereabouts  ought  to  be,  seeing  that  her  forehead  just 
reached  up  to  the  lips  of  a  grown  man. 

The  chronicles  aforesaid  had  very  good  ground  for  speaking  of 


96 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


Marietta.  I,  had  I  stood  in  the  shoes  of  the  chronicler,  would 
have  done  the  same.  For  Marietta,  who  until  lately  had  lived 
with  her  mother  Manon  at  Avignon,  when  she  came  back  to  her 
birth-place,  quite  upset  the  whole  village.  Verily,  not  the  houses, 
but  the  people  and  their  heads  ;  and  not  the  heads  of  all  the  peo- 
ple, but  of  those  particularly,  whose  heads  and  hearts  are  always 
in  great  danger,  when  in  the  neighbourhood  of  two  bright  eyes. 
I  know  very  well  that  such  a  position  is  no  joke. 

Mother  Manon  would  have  done  much  better  if  she  had  remain- 
ed at  Avignon.  But  she  had  been  left  a  small  inheritance,  by 
which  she  received  at  Napoule  an  estate  consisting  of  some  vine- 
hills,  and  a  house  that  lay  in  the  shadow  of  a  rock,  between  cer- 
tain olive  trees  and  African  acacias.  This  is  a  kind  of  thing 
which  no  unprovided  widow  ever  rejects ;  and,  accordingly,  in 
her  own  estimation,  she  was  as  rich  and  happy  as  though  she 
were  the  Countess  of  Provence  or  something  like  it. 

So  much  the  worse  was  it  for  the  good  people  of  Napoule. 
They  never  suspected  their  misfortune,  not  having  read  in  Homer, 
how  a  single  pretty  woman  had  filled  all  Greece  and  Lesser  Asia 
with  discord  and  war. 


HOW  THE  MISFORTUNE  CAME  ABOUT. 

Marietta  had  scarcely  been  fourteen  days  in  the  house,  be- 
tween the  olive  trees  and  the  African  acacias,  before  every 
young  man  of  Napoule  knew  that  she  lived  there,  and  that  there 
lived  not,  in  all  Provence,  a  more*  charming  girl  than  the  one  in 
that  house. 

Went  she  through  the  village,  sweeping  lightly  along  like  a 
dressed-up  angel,  her  frock,  with  its  pale  green  bodice,  and  orange 
leaves  and  rose-buds  upon  the  bosom  of  it,  fluttering  in  the 
breeze,  and  flowers  and  ribbons  waving  about  the  straw  bonnet, 
which  shaded  her  beautiful  features, — yes,  then  the  grave  old 
men  spake  out,  and  the  young  ones  were  struck  dumb.  And 
every  where,  to  the  right  and  left,  little  windows  and  doors 
were  opened  with  "  a  good  morning,"  or  "  a  good  evening,  Mari- 


THE  BROKEN  CUP. 


»7 


etta,"  as  it  might  be,  while  she  nodded  to  the  right  and  left  with 
a  pleasant  smile. 

If  Marietta  walked  into  the  church,  all  hearts  (that  is,  of  the 
young  people)  forgot  Heaven  ;  all  eyes  turned  from  the  Saints, 
and  the  worshipping  finger  wandered  idly  among  the  pearls  of  the 
rosary.  This  must  certainly  have  provoked  much  sorrow,  at 
least,  among  the  more  devout. 

The  maidens  of  Napoule  particularly,  became  very  pious  about 
this  time,  for  they,  most  of  all,  took  the  matter  to  heart.  And 
they  were  not  to  be  blamed  for  it ;  for  since  the  advent  of  Mari- 
etta, more  than  one  prospective  groom  had  become  cold,  and  more 
than  one  worshipper  of  some  beloved  one,  quite  inconstant. 
There  were  bickerings  and  reproaches  on  all  sides,  many  tears, 
pertinent  lectures,  and  even  rejections.  The  talk  was  no  longer 
of  marriages,  but  of  separations.  They  began  to  return  their 
pledges  of  truth,  rings,  ribbons,  &c.  The  old  persons  took  part 
with  their  children  ;  criminations  and  strife  spread  from  house  to 
house  :  it  was  most  deplorable. 

Marietta  is  the  cause  of  all,  said  the  pious  maidens,  first ;  then, 
the  mothers  said  it ;  next  the  fathers  took  it  up  ;  and  finally,  all 
— even  the  young  men.  But  Marietta,  shielded  by  modesty  and 
innocence,  like  the  petals  of  the  rose-bud  in  its  dark  green  calix, 
did  not  suspect  the  mischief  of  which  she  was  the  occasion,  and 
continued  courteous  to  every  body.  This  touched  the  young  men, 
who  said,  "  why  condemn  the  pure  and  harmless  child — she  is 
not  guilty !"  Then  the  fathers  said  the  same  thing  ;  then  the 
mothers  took  it  up  ;  and  finally,  all — even  the  pious  maidens. 
For,  let  who  would  talk  with  Marietta,  she  was  sure  to  gain  their 
esteem.  So  before  half  a  year  had  passed,  every  body  had 
spoken  to  her,  and  every  body  loved  her.  But  she  did  not  sus- 
pect that  she  was  the  object  of  such  general  regard,  as  she  had 
not  before  suspected  that  she  was  the  object  of  dislike.  Does  the 
violet,  hidden  in  the  down-trodden  grass,  think  how  swee  it  is  ? 

Now,  every  one  wished  to  make  amends  for  the  injustice  they 
had  done  Marietta.  Sympathy  deepened  the  tenderness  of  their 
attachment.  Marietta  found  herself  greeted  every  where  in  a 
more  friendly  way  than  ever  ;  she  was  more  cordially  welcomed  ; 
more  heartily  invited  to  the  rural  sports  and  dances. 

PART  II.  8 


98 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


ABOUT  THE  WICKED  COLIN. 

All  men,  however,  are  not  endowed  with  tender  sympathy ;  but 
some  have  hearts  hardened  like  Pharaoh's.  This  arises,  no  doubt, 
from  that  natural  depravity  which  has  come  upon  men  in  conse- 
quence of  the  fall  of  Adam,  or  because,  at  their  baptism,  the  devil 
is  not  brought  sufficiently  under  subjection. 

A  remarkable  example  of  this  hardness  of  heart  was  given  by 
one  Colin,  the  richest  farmer  and  proprietor  in  Napoule,  whose 
vineyards  and  olive  gardens,  whose  lemon  and  orange  trees  could 
hardly  be  counted  in  a  day.  One  thing  particularly  demonstrates 
the  perverseness  of  his  disposition  ;  he  was  twenty-seven  years 
old,  and  had  never  yet  asked  for  what  purpose  girls  had  been 
created  ! 

True,  all  the  people,  especially  damsels  of  a  certain  age, 
willingly  forgave  him  this  sin,  and  looked  upon  him  as  one  of  the 
best  young  men  under  the  sun.  His  fine  figure,  his  fresh  unem- 
barrassed manner,  his  look,  his  laugh,  enabled  him  to  gain  the 
favourable  opinion  of  the  aforesaid  people,  who  would  have  for- 
given him,  had  there  been  occasion,  any  one  of  the  deadly  sins. 
But  the  decision  of  such  judges  is  not  always  to  be  trusted. 

While  both  old  and  young  at  Napoule  had  become  reconciled 
to  the  innocent  Marietta,  and  proffered  their  sympathies  to  her, 
Colin  was  the  only  one  who  had  no  pity  upon  the  poor  child.  If 
Marietta  was  talked  of,  he  became  as  dumb  as  a  fish.  If  he  met 
her  in  the  street,  he  would  turn  red  and  white  with  anger,  and 
cast  sidelong  glances  at  her  of  the  most  malicious  kind. 

If,  at  evening,  the  young  people  met  upon  the  sea  shore  near 
the  old  castle  ruins,  for  sprightly  pastimes,  or  rural  dances,  or  to 
sing  catches,  Colin  was  the  merriest  among  them.  But  as  soon 
as  Marietta  arrived  the  rascally  fellow  was  silent,  and  all  the  gold 
in  the  world  couldn't  make  him  sing. — What  a  pity,  when  he  had 
such  a  fine  voice  !  Every  body  listened  to  it  so  willingly,  and  its 
store  of  songs  was  endless. 

All  the  maidens  looked  kindly  upon  Colin,  and  he  was  friendly 
with  all  of  them.  He  had,  as  we  have  said,  a  roguish  glance, 
which  the  lasses  feared  and  loved ;  and  it  was  so  sweet,  thoy 


THE  BROKEN  CUP. 


99 


would  like  to  have  had  it  painted.  But,  as  might  naturally  be  ex- 
pected,  the  offended  Marietta  did  not  look  graciously  upon  him. 
And  in  that  she  was  perfectly  right.  Whether  he  smiled  or  not 
it  was  all  the  same  to  her.  As  to  his  roguish  glance,  why  she 
would  never  hear  it  mentioned  ;  and  therein  too  she  was  perfectly 
right.  When  he  told  a  tale,  (and  he  knew  thousands)  and  every 
body  listened,  she  nudged  her  neighbour,  or  perhaps  threw  tufts 
of  grass  at  Peter  or  Paul,  and  laughed  and  chattered,  and  did  not 
listen  to  Colin  at  all.  This  behaviour  quite  provoked  the  proud 
fellow,  so  that  he  would  break  off  in  the  middle  of  his  story,  and 
stalk  sullenly  away. 

Revenge  is  sweet.  The  daughter  of  mother  Manon  well  knew 
how  to  triumph.  Yet  Marietta  was  a  right  good  child  and  quite 
too  tender-hearted.  If  Colin  was  silent,  it  gave  her  pain.  If  he 
was  downcast,  she  laughed  no  more.  If  he  went  away,  she  did 
not  stay  long  behind  :  but  hurried  to  her  home,  and  wept  tears  of 
repentance,  more  beautiful  than  those  of  the  Magdalen,  although 
she  had  not  sinned  like  the  Magdalen. 


THE  CUP. 

Father  Jerome,  the  pastor  of  Napoule,  was  an  old  man  of 
seventy,  who  possessed  all  the  virtues  of  a  saint,  and  only  one 
failing ;  which  was,  that  by  reason  of  his  advanced  years,  he  was 
hard  of  hearing.  But,  on  that  very  account,  his  homilies  were 
more  acceptable  to  the  children  of  his  baptism  and  blessing. 
True,  he  preached  only  of  two  subjects,  as  if  they  comprehended 
the  whole  of  religion.  It  was  either,  "  Little  children,  love  one 
another,"  or  it  was,  "  Mysterious  are  the  ways  of  Providence." 
And  truly  there  is  so  much  Faith,  Love  and  Hope  in  these,  that 
one  might  at  a  pinch  be  saved  by  them.  The  little  children 
loved  one  another  most  obediently,  and  trusted  in  the  ways  of 
Providence. — Only  Colin,  with  his  flinty  heart,  would  know 
nothing  of  either  :  for  even  when  he  professed  to  be  friendly,  he 
entertained  the  deepest  malice. 

The  Napoulese  went  to  the  annual  market  or  fair  of  the  city 


100 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


of  Vence.  It  was  truly  a  joyful  time,  and  though  they  had  but 
little  gold  to  buy  with,  there  were  many  goods  to  look  at.  Now 
Marietta  and  mother  Manon,  went  to  the  Fair  with  the  rest,  and 
Colin  was  also  there.  He  bought  a  great  many  curiosities  and 
trifles  for  his  friends — but  he  would  not  spend  a  farthing  for 
Marietta.  And  yet  he  was  always  at  her  elbow,  though  he  did 
not  speak  to  her,  nor  she  to  him.  It  was  easy  to  see  that  he  was 
brooding  over  some  scheme  of  wickedness. 

Mother  Manon  stood  gazing  before  a  shop,  when  she  suddenly 
exclaimed,  "  Oh  !  Marietta,  see  that  beautiful  cup !  A  queen 
would  not  be  ashamed  to  raise  it  to  her  lips.  Only  see  :  the  edge 
is  of  dazzling  gold,  and  the  flowers  upon  it  could  not  bloom  more 
more  beautifully  in  the  garden,  although  they  are  only  painted. 
And  in  the  midst  of  this  Paradise !  pray  see,  Marietta,  how  the 
apples  are  smiling  on  the  trees.  They  are  verily  tempting.  And 
Adam  cannot  withstand  it,  as  the  enchanting  Eve  offers  him  one 
for  food  !  And  do  see,  how  prettily  the  little  frisking  lamb  skips 
around  the  old  tiger,  and  the  snow-white  dove  with  its  golden 
throat  stands  there  before  the  vulture,  as  if  she  would  caress 
him  !" 

Marietta  could  not  satisfy  herself  with  looking.  "  Had  I  such 
a  cup,  mother!"  said  she,  "  it  is  far  too  beautiful  to  drink  out  of: 
I  would  place  my  flowers  in  it  and  constantly  peep  into  Paradise. 
We  are  at  the  fair  in  Vence,  but  when  I  look  on  the  picture,  I 
feel  as  if  I  were  in  Paradise." 

So  spoke  Marietta,  and  called  all  her  companions  to  the  spot,  to 
share  her  admiration  of  the  cup :  but  the  young  men  soon  joined 
the  maidens,  until  at  length  almost  half  the  inhabitants  of  Na- 
poule  were  assembled  before  the  wonderfully  beautiful  cup.  But 
miraculously  beautiful  was  it  mainly  from  its  inestimable,  trans- 
lucent porcelain,  with  gilded  handles  and  glowing  colours.  They 
asked  the  merchant  timidly  :  "  Sir,  what  is  the  price  of  it  ?" 
And  he  answered  :  "  Among  friends,  it  is  worth  a  hundred  livres." 
Then  they  all  became  silent,  and  went  away  in  despair.  When 
the  Napoulese  were  all  gone  from  the  front  of  the  shop,  Colin 
came  there  by  stealth,  threw  the  merchant  a  hundred  livres  upon 
the  counter,  had  the  cup  put  in  a  box  well  packed  with  cotton, 


THE  BROKEN  CUP. 


101 


and  then  carried  it  off. — What  evil  plans  he  had  in  view  no  one 
would  have  surmised. 

Near  Napoule,  on  his  way  home,  it  being  already  dusk,  he  met 
old  Jacques,  the  Justice's  servant,  returning  from  the  fields. 
Jacques  was  a  very  good  man,  but  excessively  stupid. 

"I  will  give  thee  money  enough  to  get  something  to  drink, 
Jacques,"  said  Colin,  "  if  thou  wilt  bear  this  box  to  Manon's 
house,  and  leave  it  there  ;  and  if  any  one  should  see  thee,  and 
enquire  from  whom  the  box  came,  say,  '  A  stranger  gave  it  to 
me.'  But  never  disclose  my  name,  or  I  will  always  detest 
thee." 

Jacques  promised  this,  took  the  drink-money,  and  the  box,  and 
went  with  it  towards  the  little  dwelling,  between  the  olive  trees 
and  the  African  acacias. 


THE  CARRIER. 

Before  he  arrived  there,  he  encountered  his  master,  Justice 
Hautmartin,  who  asked,  "Jacques,  what  art  thou  carrying?" 

"  A  box  for  mother  Manon.  But,  sir,  I  cannot  say  from  whom 
it  comes." 

"  Why  not  ?" 

"  Because  Mr.  Colin  would  always  detest  me." 

"  It  is  well  that  thou  canst  keep  a  secret.  But  it  is  already 
late  ;  give  me  the  box,  for  I  am  going-  to-morrow  to  see  Mrs. 
Manon  ;  I  will  deliver  it  to  her,  and  not  betray  that  it  came  from 
Colin.  It  will  save  thee  a  walk,  and  furnish  me  a  good  excuse 
for  calling  ou  the  old  lad} ." 

Jacques  gave  the  box  to  his  master,  whom  he  was  accustomed 
to  obey  explicitly  in  all  things.  The  Justice  bore  it  into  his 
chamber,  and  examined  it  by  the  light  with  some  curiosity.  On 
the  lid  was  neatly  written  with  red  chalk :  "  For  the  lovely  and 
dear  Marietta."  But  Herr  Hautmartin  well  knew  that  this  was 
some  of  Colin's  mischief,  and  that  some  knavish  trick  lurked  un- 
der the  whole.  He  therefore  opened  the  box  carefully,  for  fear 
that  a  mouse  or  rat  should  be  concealed  within.    When  he  be- 


102 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


held  the  wondrous  cup,  which  he  had  seen  at  Vence,  he  was 
dreadfully  shocked,  for  Herr  Hautmartin  was  a  skilful  casuist, 
and  knew  that  the  inventions  and  devices  of  the  human  heart 
are  evil  from  our  youth  upward.  He  saw  at  once,  that  Colin 
designed  this  cup  as  a  means  of  bringing  misfortune  upon  Mari- 
etta :  perhaps  to  give  out,  when  it  should  be  in  her  possession, 
that  it  was  the  present  of  some  successful  lover  in  the  town,  or 
the  like,  so  that  all  decent  people  would  thereafter  keep  aloof  from 
Marietta.  Therefore  Herr  Hautmartin  resolved,  in  order  to  pre- 
vent any  evil  reports,  to  profess  himself  the  giver.  Moreover,  he 
loved  Marietta,  and  would  gladly  have  seen  her  observe  more 
strictly  towards  himself  the  sayings  of  the  grey-headed  priest 
Jerome,  "  Little  children,  love  one  another."  In  truth,  Herr 
Hautmartin  was  a  little  child  of  fifty  years  old,  and  Marietta  did 
not  think  the  saying  applied  particularly  to  him.  Mother  Manon, 
on  the  contrary,  thought  that  the  Justice  was  a  clever  little  child, 
he  had  gold  and  a  high  reputation,  from  one  end  of  Napoule  to  the 
other.  And  when  the  Justice  spoke  of  marriage,  and  Marietta 
ran  away  in  affright,  mother  Manon  remained  sitting,  and  had  no 
fear  for  the  tall,  staid  gentleman.  It  must  also  be  confessed,  that 
there  were  no  faults  in  his  person.  And  although  Colin  might  be 
the  handsomest  man  in  the  village,  yet  the  Justice  far  surpassed 
him  in  two  things,  namely,  in  the  number  of  years,  and  in  a  very, 
very  big  nose.  Yes,  this  nose,  which  always  went  before  the  Jus- 
tice like  a  herald,  to  proclaim  his  approach,  was  a  real  elephant 
among  human  noses. 

With  this  proboscis,  his  good  purpose,  and  the  cup,  the  Justice 
went  the  following  morning  to  the  house  between  the  olive  trees 
and  the  African  acacias. 

"  For  the  beautiful  Marietta,"  said  he,  "  I  hold  nothing  too 
costly.  Yesterday  you  admired  the  cup  at  Vence :  to-day,  allow 
me,  lovely  Marietta,  to  lay  it  and  my  devoted  heart  at  your  feet." 

Manon  and  Marietta  were  transported  beyond  measure  when 
they  beheld  the  cup.  Manon's  eyes  glistened  with  delight ;  but 
Marietta  turned  and  said,  "  I  can  neither  take  your  heart  nor 
your  cup." 

Then  mother  Manon  was  angry,  and  cried  out :  "  But  I  accept 
both  heart  and  cup.    O,  thou  little  fool,  how  long  wilt  thou  de- 


THE  BROKEN  CUP. 


103 


spise  thy  good  fortune  !  For  whom  dost  thou  tarry  ?  Will  a 
count  of  Provence  make  thee  his  bride,  that  thou  scornst  the  Jus- 
tice of  Napoule  ?  1  know  better  how  to  look  after  thy  interests. 
Herr  Hautmartin,  I  deem  it  an  honour  to  call  you  my  son-in-law." 

Then  Marietta  went  out  and  wept  bitterly,  and  hated  the  beau- 
tiful cup  with  all  her  heart. 

But  the  Justice  drawing  the  palm  of  his  flabby  hand  over  his 
nose,  spoke  thus  judiciously  : 

"  Mother  Manon,  hurry  nothing.  The  dove  will  at  length, 
when  it  learns  to  know  me  better,  give  way.  I  am  not  impetu- 
ous. I  have  some  skill  among  women,  and  before  a  quarter  of  a 
year  passes  by,  I  will  insinuate  myself  into  Marietta's  good 
graces." 

"  Thy  nose  is  too  large  for  that,"  whispered  Marietta,  who  list- 
ened outside  the  door  and  laughed  to  herself.  In  fact,  the  quar- 
ter of  the  year  passed  by,  and  Herr  Hautmartin  had  not  yet 
pierced  her  heart  even  with  the  tip  of  his  nose. 


THE  FLOWERS. 

During  this  quarter  of  a  year  Marietta  had  other  affairs  to  at- 
tend to.  The  cup  gave  her  much  vexation  and  trouble,  and  some- 
thing else  besides. 

For  a  fortnight  nothing  else  was  talked  of  in  Napoule,  and 
every  one  said,  it  is  a  present  from  the  Justice,  and  the  marriage 
is  already  agreed  upon. — Marietta  solemnly  declared  to  all  her 
companions,  that  she  would  rather  plunge  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea 
than  marry  the  Justice,  but  the  maidens  continued  to  banter  her 
all  the  more,  saying,  Oh,  how  blissful  it  must  be  to  repose  in 
the  shadow  of  his  nose  !" — This  was  her  first  vexation. 

Then  mother  Manon  had  the  cruelty  to  force  Marietta  to  rinse 
out  the  cup  every  morning  at  the  spring  under  the  rock  and  to 
fill  it  with  fresh  flowers.  She  hoped  by  this  to  accustom  Marietta 
to  the  cup  and  heart  of  the  giver.  But  Marietta  continued  to  hate 
both  the  gift  and  giver,  and  her  work  at  the  spring  became  an  ac- 
tual punishment.    Second  vexation. 


104 


ZSCHOKKE  S  TALES. 


Then,  when  in  the  morning,  she  came  to  the  spring,  twice  every 
week  she  found  on  the  rock,  immediately  over  it,  some  most  beau- 
tiful flowers,  handsomely  arranged,  all  ready  for  the  decoration  of 
the  cup.  And  on  the  flower  stalks  a  strip  of  paper  was  always 
tied,  on  which  was  written,  Dear  Marietta.  Now  no  one  need 
expect  to  impose  upon  little  Marietta,  as  if  magicians  and  fairies 
were  still  in  the  world.  Consequently,  she  knew  that  both  the 
flowers  and  papers  must  have  come  from  Herr  Hautmartin.  Ma- 
rietta,  indeed,  would  not  smell  them  because  the  living  breath 
from  out  the  Justice's  nose  had  perfumed  them.  Nevertheless, 
she  took  the  flowers,  because  they  were  finer  than  wild  flowers, 
and  tore  the  slip  of  paper  into  a  thousand  pieces,  which  she  strew- 
ed upon  the  spot  where  the  flowers  usually  lay.  But  this  did  not 
vex  Justice  Hautmartin,  whose  love  was  unparalleled  in  its  kind, 
as  his  nose  was  in  its  kind.    Third  vexation. 

At  length  it  came  out  in  conversation  with  Herr  Hautmartin, 
that  he  was  not  the  giver  of  the  beautiful  flowers.  Then,  who 
could  it  be  ?  Marietta  was  utterly  astounded  at  the  unexpected 
discovery.  Thenceforth  she  took  the  flowers  from  the  rock  more 
kindly  ;  but  further,  Marietta  was, — what  maidens  are  not 
wont  to  be, — very  inquisitive.  She  conjectured  first  this  and  then 
that  young  man  in  Napoule.  Yet  her  conjectures  were  in  vain. 
She  looked  and  listened  far  into  the  night ;  she  rose  earlier  than 
usual.  But  she  looked  and  listened  in  vain.  And  still  twice  a 
week  in  the  morning,  the  miraculous  flowers  lay  upon  the  rock, 
and  upon  the  strip  of  paper  wound  round  them,  she  always  read 
the  silent  sigh,  Dear  Marietta  !  Such  an  incident  would  have 
made  even  the  most  indifferent  inquisitive.  But  curiosity  at  length 
became  a  burning  pain.    Fourth  vexation. 


WICKEDNESS  UPON  WICKEDNESS. 

Now  Father  Jerome,  on  Sunday,  had  again  preached  from  the 
text,  "  Mysterious  are  the  dispensations  of  Providence."  And 
little  Marietta  thought,  if  Providence  would  only  dispense  that  I 
might  at  length  find  out  who  is  the  flower  dispenser. — Father 
Jerome  was  never  wrong. 


THE  BROKEN  CUP. 


105 


On  a  summer  night,  when  it  was  far  too  warm  for  rest,  Mari- 
etta awoke  very  early,  and  could  not  resume  her  sleep.  There- 
fore she  sprang  joyously  from  her  couch,  as  the  first  streaks  of 
dawn  flashed  against  the  window  of  her  little  chamber,  over  the 
waves  of  the  sea  and  the  Lerinian  Isles,  dressed  herself,  and  went 
out  to  wash  her  forehead,  breast,  and  arms  in  the  cool  spring.  She 
took  her  hat  with  her,  intending  to  take  a  walk  by  the  sea-shore, 
as  she  knew  of  a  retired  place  for  bathing. 

In  order  to  reach  this  retired  spot,  it  was  necessary  to  pass  over 
the  rocks  behind  the  house,  and  thence  down  through  the  orange 
and  palm  trees.  On  this  occasion  Marietta  could  not  pass  through 
them ;  for,  under  the  youngest  and  most  slender  of  the  palms,  lay 
a  tall  young  man,  in  profound  sleep — near  him  a  nosegay  of  most 
splendid  flowers.  A  white  paper  lay  thereon,  from  which,  prob- 
ably, a  sigh  was  again  breathing.  How  could  Marietta  get  by 
there  ? 

She  stood  still,  trembling  with  fright.  She  would  go  home 
again.  Hardly  had  she  retreated  a  couple  of  steps,  ere  she  looked 
again  at  the  sleeper,  and  remained  motionless.  Yet  the  distance 
prevented  her  from  recognising  his  face.  Now  the  mystery  was 
to  be  solved,  or  never.  She  tripped  lightly  nearer  to  the  palms — 
but  he  seemed  to  stir — then  she  ran  again  towards  the  cottage. 
His  movements  were  but  the  fearful  imaginings  of  Marietta — 
now  she  returned  again  on  her  way  towards  the  palms — but 
his  sleep  might  perhaps  be  only  dissembled — swiftly  she  ran 
towards  the  cottage — but  who  would  flee  for  a  mere  probability? — 
She  trod  more  boldly  the  path  towards  the  palms. 

With  these  fluctuations  of  her  timid  and  joyous  spirit,  between 
fright  and  curiosity,  with  these  to  and  fro  trippings  between  the 
house  and  the  palm-trees,  she  at  length  nearly  approached  the 
sleeper ;  at  the  same  time  curiosity  became  more  powerful  than 
fear. 

"  What  is  he  to  me  ?  My  way  leads  me  directly  past  him. 
Whether  he  sleeps  or  wake,  I  will  go  straight  on."  So  thought 
Manon's  daughter.  But  she  passed  not  by,  but  stood  looking 
directly  in  the  face  of  the  flower-giver,  in  order  to  be  certain  who 
it  was.    Besides,  he  slept  as  if  it  were  the  first  time  in  a  month. 


106 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


And  who  was  it?  Now,  who  else  should  it  be,  but  the  arch, 
wicked  Colin  ? 

So  it  was  he  who  had  annoyed  the  gentle  maiden,  and  given 
her  so  much  trouble  with  Herr  Hautmartin,  because  he  bore  a 
grudge  against  her ;  he  had  been  the  one  who  had  teased  her 
with  flowers,  in  order  to  torture  her  curiosity.  Wherefore  ?  He 
hated  Marietta.  He  behaved  himself  always  most  shamefully 
towards  the  poor  child.  He  avoided  her  when  he  could ;  and 
when  he  could  not,  he  grieved  the  good-natured  little  one. 
With  all  the  other  maidens  of  Napoule  he  was  more  chatty, 
friendly,  courteous,  than  towards  Marietta.  Consider — he  had 
never  once  asked  her  to  dance,  and  yet  she  danced  bewitchingly. 

Now  there  he  lay,  surprised,  taken  in  the  act.  Revenge  swelled 
in  Marietta's  bosom.  What  disgrace  could  she  subject  him  to  % 
She  took  the  nosegay,  unloosed  it,  strewed  his  present  over  the 
sleeper  in  scorn.  But  the  paper,  on  which  appeared  again  the 
sigh,  "Dear  Marietta,"  she  retained,  and  thrust  quickly  into 
her  bosom.  She  wished  to  preserve  this  proof  of  his  handwriting. 
Marietta  was  sly.  Now  she  would  go  away.  But  her  revenge 
was  not  yet  satisfied.  She  could  not  leave  the  place  without 
returning  Colin's  ill  will.  She  took  the  violet  coloured  silken 
ribbon  from  her  hat,  and  threw  it  lightly  around  the  sleeper's  arm 
and  around  the  tree,  and  with  three  knots  tied  Colin  fast.  Now 
when  he  awoke,  how  astonished  he  would  be !  How  his  curi- 
osity would  torment  him  to  ascertain  who  had  played  him  this 
trick  ! — That  he  could  not  possibly  discover.  So  much  the  bet- 
ter ;  it  served  him  right. 

Marietta  had  only  been  too  lenient  towards  him.  She  seemed 
to  regret  her  work  when  she  had  finished  it.  Her  bosom  throbbed 
impetuously.  Indeed,  T  believe  that  a  little  tear  filled  her  eye,  as 
she  compassionately  gazed  upon  the  guilty  one.  Slowly  she  re- 
treated to  the  orange  grove  by  the  rocks — she  looked  around  often 
— slowly  ascended  the  rocks,  looking  down  among  the  palm  trees 
as  she  ascended.  Then  she  hastened  to  mother  Manon,  who  was 
calling  her. 


THE  BROKEN  CUP. 


107 


THE  HAT  BAND. 

That  very  day  Colin  practised  new  mischief.  What  did  he  ? 
He  wished  to  shame  the  poor  Marietta  publicly.  Ah  !  she  never 
thought  that  every  one  in  Napoule  knew  her  violet  coloured  rib- 
bon !  Colin  remembered  it  but  too  well.  Proudly  he  bound  it 
around  his  hat,  and  exhibited  it  to  the  gaze  of  all  the  world  as  a 
conquest.  And  male  and  female  cried  out.  "  he  has  received  it 
from  Marietta." — And  all  the  maidens  said  angrily  "  the  repro- 
bate." And  all  the  young  men  who  liked  to  see  Marietta,  cried 
out,  "  the  reprobate." 

"  How  !  mother  Manon  V  shrieked  the  Justice  Hautmartin, 
when  he  came  to  her  house,  and  he  shrieked  so  loudly,  that  it 
re-echoed  wonderfully  through  his  nose.  "  How  !  do  you  suffer 
this  ?  my  betrothed  presents  the  young  proprietor  Colin  with  her 
hat  band  !  It  is  high  time  that  we  celebrate  our  nuptials.  When 
that  is  over,  then  I  shall  have  a  right  to  speak." 

"  You  have  a  right !"  answered  mother  Manon,  "  if  things  are 
so,  the  marriage  must  take  place  forthwith.  When  that  is  done, 
all  will  go  right." 

"  But,  mother  Manon,  Marietta  always  refuses  to  give  me  her 
consent." 

"  Prepare  the  marriage  feast." 

"  But  she  will  not  even  look  kindly  at  me  ;  and  when  I  seat 
myself  at  her  side,  the  little  savage  jumps  up  and  runs  away." 
"Justice,  only  prepare  the  marriage  feast." 
"  But  if  Marietta  resists — " 

"  We  will  take  her  by  surprise.  We  will  go  to  Father  Jerome 
on  Monday  morning  early,  and  he  shall  quietly  celebrate  the 
marriage.  This  we  can  easily  accomplish  with  him.  I  am  her 
mother.  You  the  first  Judicial  person  in  Napoule.  He  must 
obey.  Marietta  need  know  nothing  about  it.  Early  on  Monday 
morning  I  will  send  her  to  Father  Jerome  all  alone,  with  a  mes- 
sage, so  that  she  will  suspect  nothing.  Then  the  Priest  shall 
speak  earnestly  to  her.  Half  an  hour  afterwards  we  two  will 
come.    Then  swiftly  to  the  altar.    And  even  if  Marietta  should 


108 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


then  say  no,  what  consequence  is  it  ?  The  old  Priest  can  hear 
nothing.    But  till  then,  mum  to  Marietta  and  all  Napoule." 

So  the  secret  remained  with  the  two.  Marietta  dreamed  not  of 
the  good  luck  which  was  in  store  for  her.  She  thought  only  of 
Colin's  wickedness,  which  had  made  her  the  common  talk  of  the 
whole  place.  Oh  !  how  she  repented  her  heedlessness  about  the 
ribbon  ;  and  yet  in  her  heart  she  forgave  the  reprobate  his  crime. 
Marietta  was  far  too  good.  She  told  her  mother,  she  told  all  her 
playmates,  "  Colin  has  found  my  lost  hat  band.  I  never  gave  it 
to  him.  He  only  wishes  to  vex  me  with  it.  You  all  know  that 
Colin  was  always  ill-disposed  towards  me,  and  always  sought  to 
mortify  me  !" 

Ah  !  the  poor  child  !  she  knew  not  what  new  abomination  the 
malicious  fellow  was  again  contriving. 


THE  BROKEN  CUP. 

Early  in  the  morning  Marietta  went  to  the  spring  with  the  cup. 
There  were  no  flowers  yet  on  the  rock.  It  was  still  quite  too 
early  ;  for  the  sun  had  scarcely  risen  from  the  sea. 

Footsteps  were  heard.  Colin  came  in  sight,  the  flowers  in  his 
hand.  Marietta  became  very  red.  Colin  stammered  out  "  good 
morning,  Marietta,"  but  the  greeting  came  not  from  his  heart,  he 
could  hardly  bring  it  over  hiu  lips. 

"  Why  dost  thou  wear  my  ribbon  so  publicly,  Colin  ?"  said 
Marietta,  and  placed  the  cup  upon  the  rock.  "  I  did  not  give  it 
thee  " 

"  Thou  didst  not  give  it  to  me,  dear  Marietta  ?"  asked  he,  and 
inward  rage  made  him  deadly  pale. 

Marietta  was  ashamed  of  the  falsehood,  drooped  her  eyelids, 
and  said  after  a  while,  "  Well,  I  did  give  it  to  thee,  yet  thou 
shouldst  not  have  worn  it  so  openly.    Give  it  me  back  again." 

Slowly  he  untied  it ;  his  anger  was  so  great  that  he  could  not 
prevent  the  tears  from  filling  his  eyes,  nor  the  sighs  from  escap- 
ing his  breast. — "  Dear  Marietta,  leave  thy  ribbon  with  me,"  said 
he  softly. 


THE  BROKEN  CUP. 


109 


"  No,"  answered  she. 

Then  his  suppressed  passion  changed  into  desperation.  Sigh- 
ing, he  looked  towards  Heaven,  then  sadly  on  Marietta,  who, 
silent  and  abashed,  stood  by  the  spring  with  downcast  eyes. 

He  wound  the  violet  coloured  ribbon  around  the  stalks  of  the 
dowers,  said  "  there,  take  them  all,"  and  threw  the  flowers  so 
spitefully  against  the  magnificent  cup  upon  the*  rock,  that  it  was 
thrown  down  and  dashed  to  pieces^.    Maliciously  he  fled  away. 

Mother  Manon  lurking  behind  the  window,  had  seen  and  heard 
all.  When  the  cup  broke,  hearing  and  sight  left  her.  She  was 
scarcely  able  to  speak  for  very  horror.  And  as  she  pushed  with 
all  her  strength  against  the  narrow  window,  to  shout  after  the 
guilty  one,  it  gave  way,  and  with  one  crash  fell  to  the  earth  and 
was  shattered  in  pieces. 

So  much  ill  luck  would  have  discomposed  any  other  woman. 
But  Manon  soon  recovered  herself.  "  How  lucky  that  I  was  a 
witness  to  this  roguery  !"  exclaimed  she  ;  *  he  must  to  the  Jus- 
tice.— He  shall  replace  both  cup  and  window-sash  with  his  gold. 
It  will  give  a  rich  dowry  to  Marietta."  But  when  Marietta 
brought  in  the  fragments  of  the  shattered  cup,  when  Manon  saw 
the  Paradise  lost,  the  good  man  Adam  without  a  head,  and  of 
Eve  not  a  solitary  limb  remaining,  the  serpent  unhurt,  triumph- 
ing, the  tiger  safe,  but  the  little  lamb  gone  even  to  the  very  tail, 
as  if  the  tiger  had  swallowed  it,  then  mother  Manon  screamed 
forth  curses  against  Colin,  and  said  "  one  can  easily  see  that  this 
fall  came  from  the  hand  of  the  Devil." 


THE  TRIBUNAL. 

She  took  the  cup  in  one  hand,  Marietta  in  the  other,  and  went 
about  nine  o'clock  to  where  Herr  Hautmartin  was  wont  to  sit  in 
judgment.  She  there  made  a  great  outcry,  and  showed  the  bro- 
ken cup  and  the  Paradise  lost.    Marietta  wept  bitterly. 

The  Justice  when  he  saw  the  broken  cup  and  his  beautiful 
bride  in  tears,  flew  into  so  violent  a  rage  towards  Colin,  that  his 
nose  was  as  violet  coloured  as  Marietta's  well-known  hat  band. 


110 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


He  immediately  despatched  his  bailiffs  to  bring  the  criminal  be- 
fore him. 

Colin  came  overwhelmed  with  grief.  Mother  Manon  now  re- 
peated her  complaint  with  great  eloquence,  before  justice,  bailiffs 
and  scribes. — But  Colin  listened  not.  He  stepped  to  Marietta  and 
whispered  to  her  "  forgive  me,  dear  Marietta,  as  I  forgive  thee. 
I  broke  thy  cup  unintentionally ;  but  thou,  thou  hast  broken  my 
heart  !" 

"  What  whispering  is  that  ?'  cried  Herr  Hautmartin,  with  ma- 
gisterial authority.  "  Hearken  to  this  accusation,  and  defend 
yourself."  "  I  have  nought  to  defend.  I  broke  the  cup  against 
my  will,"  said  Colin. 

"  That  I  verily  believe,"  said  Marietta  sobbing  ;  "  I  am  as 
guilty  as  he ;  for  I  offended  and  angered  him, — then  he  threw 
the  ribbon  and  the  flowers  to  me.    He  could  not  help  it." 

"  Well,  I  should  like  to  know  !"  cried  mother  Manon.  "Do  you 
intend  to  defend  him  ?  Mr.  Justice,  pronounce  his  sentence.  He 
has  broken  the  cup,  and  he  does  not  deny  it ;  and  I,  on  his  ac- 
count, the  window — will  he  deny  that  ?    Let  us  see." 

"  Since  you  cannot  deny  it,  Mr.  Colin,"  said  the  Justice,  "  you 
must  pay  three  hundred  livres  for  the  cup,  for  it  is  worth  that ; 
and  then  for  " 

"  No,"  interrupted  Colin,  "  it  is  not  worth  so  much.  I  bought 
it  at  Vence  at  the  Fair,  for  Marietta,  for  one  hundred  livres." 

"  You  bought  it,  Sir  brazen  face  ?"  shrieked  the  Justice,  and 
his  whole  face  became  like  Marietta's  hat  band.  He  could  not  or 
would  not  say  more,  for  he  dreaded  a  disagreeable  investigation 
of  the  matter. 

But  Colin  was  vexed  at  the  imputation,  and  said,  "  I  sent  this 
cup  on  the  evening  of  the  Fair,  by  your  own  servant,  to  Marietta. 
There  stands  Jacques  in  the  door.  He  is  a  witness.  Speak 
Jacques,  did  I  not  give  thee  the  box  to  carry  to  Mrs.  Manon  ?" 

Herr  Hautmartin  wished  to  interrupt  this  conversation  by 
speaking  loudly.  But  the  simple  Jacques  said,  "  Only  recollect, 
Herr  Justice,  you  took  away  Colin's  box  from  me,  and  carried 
what  was  in  it  to  Frau  Manon.  The  box  lies  even  now,  there 
under  the  papers." 

Then  the  bailiffs  were  ordered  to  remove  the  simpleton ;  and 


THE  BROKEN  CUP. 


Ill 


Colin  was  also  directed  to  retire,  until  he  should  be  sent  for 
again. 

"  Very  well,  Mr.  Justice,"  interposed  Colin,  "  but  this  business 
shall  be  your  last  in  Napoule.  I  know  this,  that  you  would 
ingratiate  yourself  with  Frau  Manon  and  Marietta,  by  means  of 
my  property.  When  you  want  me,  you  will  have  to  ride  to 
Grasse  to  the  Governor's."    With  that,  Colin  departed. 

Herr  Hautmartin  was  quite  puzzled  with  this  affair,  and  in  his 
confusion,  knew  not  what  he  was  about.  Mrs.  Manon  shook  her 
head.  The  affair  was  dark  and  mysterious  to  her.  "Who  will 
now  pay  me  for  the  broken  cup  V  she  asked. 

"  To  me,"  said  Marietta,  with  glowing,  brightened  countenance, 
"  to  me  it  is  already  paid  for." 


MYSTERIOUS  DISPENSATIONS. 

Colin  rode  that  same  day  to  the  Governor,  at  Grasse,  and 
came  back  early  the  next  morning.  But  Mr.  Hautmartin  only 
laughed  at  him,  and  removed  all  Mother  Manon's  suspicions,  by 
swearing  he  would  let  his  nose  be  cut  off,  if  Colin  did  not  pay 
three  hundred  livres  for  the  broken  cup.  He  also  went  with 
Mother  Manon  to  talk  with  Father  Jerome  about  the  marriage, 
and  impressed  upon  him  the  necessity  of  earnestly  setting  before 
Marietta  her  duty,  as  an  obedient  daughter,  of  not  opposing  the 
will  of  her  mother  in  her  marriage.  This  the  pious  old  man 
promised,  although  he  understood  not  the  half  of  what  they 
shouted  in  his  ear. 

Marietta  took  the  broken  cup  into  her  bed-chamber,  and  now 
truly  loved  it ;  and  it  was,  as  if  Paradise  were  planted  in  her 
bosom,  since  it  had  been  destroyed  on  the  cup. 

When  Monday  morning  came,  Mother  Manon  said  to  her 
daughter,  "  Dress  yourself  handsomely,  and  carry  this  myrtle 
wreath  to  Father  Jerome  ;  he  wants  it  for  a  bride."  Marietta 
dressed  herself  in  her  Sunday  clothes,  took  the  myrtle  wreath  un- 
suspiciously, and  carried  it  to  Father  Jerome. 

On  the  way,  Colin  met  her,  and  greeted  her  joyfully,  though 


l  L3 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


timidly ;  and  when  she  told  him  where  she  was  taking  the 

wreath,  Colin  said,  "  I  am  going  the  same  way,  for  I  am  carrying 
the  money  for  the  Church's  tenths  to  the  Priest."  And  as  they 
went  on,  he  took  her  hand  silently,  and  both  trembled,  as  if  they 
designed  some  great  crime  against  each  other. 

"  Hast  thou  forgiven  me  ?"  whispered  Colin,  anxiously.  "  Ah  ! 
Marietta,  what  have  I  done  to  thee,  that  thou  art  so  cruel 
towards  me  ?" 

She  could  only  say,  "  Be  quiet,  Colin,  you  shall  have  the  ribbon 
again  ;  and  I  will  preserve  the  cup,  since  it  came  from  you ! 
Did  it  really  come  from  you  ?" 

"  All !  Marietta,  canst  thou  doubt  it  ?  All  I  have  I  would 
gladly  give  thee.  Wilt  thou,  hereafter,  be  as  kind  to  me,  as  thou 
art  to  others  V 

She  replied  not.  But  as  she  entered  the  parsonage,  she  looked 
aside  at  him,  and  when  she  saw  his  fine  eyes  filled  with  tears, 
she  whispered  softly,  "  dear  Colin  !"  Then  he  bent  down  and 
kissed  her  hand.  With  this,  the  door  of  a  chamber  opened,  and 
Father  Jerome,  with  venerable  aspect,  stood  before  them.  The 
young  couple  had  nearly  fallen  from  giddiness,  and  they  held  fast 
to  each  other.  I  know  not  whether  this  was  the  effect  of  the 
hand-kissing,  or  the  awe  they  felt  for  the  sage. 

Marietta  handed  him  the  myrtle  wreath.  He  laid  it  upon  her 
head  and  said,  "Little  children,  love  one  another;"  and  then 
urged  the  good  maiden  in  the  most  touching  and  pathetic  manner, 
to  love  Colin.  For  the  old  gentleman,  from  his  hardness  of  hear- 
ing, had  either  mistaken  the  name  of  the  bridegroom,  or  from 
want  of  memory,  forgotten  it,  and  thought  Colin  must  be  the 
bridegroom. 

Then  Marietta's  heart  softened  under  the  exhortation  of  the 
venerable  Father,  and  with  tears  and  sobs  she  exclaimed,  "  Ah ! 
I  have  loved  him  for  a  long  time,  but  he  hates  me." 

"  I  hate  thee,  Marietta  ?"  cried  Colin,  "  my  soul  has  lived  only 
in  thee,  since  thou  earnest  to  Napoule.  Oh  !  Marietta,  how  could  I 
hope  and  believe  that  thou  didst  love  me  ?  Does  not  all  Napoule 
worship  thep  W. 

W'ny  'hen  dost  thou  avoid  me,  Colin,  and  prefer  al!  my  com- 
panions before  mnV} 


THE  BROKEN  CUP. 


113 


"  Oh  !  Marietta,  I  feared  and  trembled  with  love  and  anxiety 
when  I  beheld  thee  ;  I  had  not  the  courage  to  approach  thee  ;  and 
when  I  was  away  from  thee,  I  was  most  miserable." 

As  they  talked  thus  with  each  other,  the  good  Father  thought 
they  were  quarrelling  ;  and  he  threw  his  arms  around  them, 
brought  them  together,  and  said  imploringly,  "  Little  children, 
little  children,  love  one  another." 

Then  Marietta  sank  on  Colin's  breast,  and  Colin  threw  his 
arms  around  her,  and  both  faces  beamed  with  rapture.  They 
forgot  the  priest,  the  whole  world.  Colin's  lips  hung  upon  Mari- 
etta's sweet  mouth.  It  was  indeed  only  a  kiss,  but  a  kiss  of 
sweetest  self-forgetfulness.  Each  was  sunk  into  the  other. 
Both  had  so  completely  lost  their  recollection,  that  unwittingly, 
they  followed  the  delighted  Father  Jerome  into  the  church  and 
before  the  altar. 

"  Marietta  !"  sighed  he. 

"  Colin  !"  sighed  she. 

In  the  church  there  were  many  devout  worshippers  ;  but  they 
witnessed  Colin's  and  Marietta's  marriage  with  amazement. 
Many  ran  out  before  the  close  of  the  ceremony,  to  spread  the 
news  in  every  direction  throughout  Napoule :  "  Colin  and  Mari- 
etta are  married  !" 

When  the  solemnization  was  over,  Father  Jerome  honestly  re- 
joiced that  he  had  succeeded  so  well ;  and  that  such  little  oppo- 
sition had  been  made  by  the  parties.  He  led  them  into  the  par- 
sonage. 


END  OF  THIS  MEMORABLE  HISTOEY. 

Then  mother  Manon  arrived,  breathless ;  she  had  waited  at  home 
a  long  time  for  the  bridegroom.  He  had  not  arrived.  At  the 
last  stroke  of  the  clock  she  grew  anxious,  and  went  to  Herr  Haut- 
martin's.  There  a  new  surprise  awaited  her.  She  learned  that 
the  Governor,  together  with  the  officers  of  the  Viguerie,  had  ap- 
peared, and  taken  possession  of  the  accounts,  chests,  and  papers 
of  the  Justice ;  and  at  the  same  time  arrested  Herr  Hautmartin. 

PART  II.  9 


114 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


"  This  surely  is  the  work  of  that  wicked  Colin,"  thought  she, 
and  hurried  to  the  parsonage,  in  order  to  apologize  to  Father  Je- 
rome, for  delaying  the  marriage.  The  good  gray-headed  old 
man  advanced  towards  her,  proud  of  his  work,  and  leading  by 
the  hand  the  newly  married  pair. 

Now  mother  Manon  lost  her  wits  and  her  speech  in  good  ear- 
nest, when  she  learned  what  had  happened.  But  Colin  had  more 
thoughts  and  powers  of  speech,  than  in  his  whole  previous  life. 
He  told  of  his  love  and  the  broken  cup,  the  falsehood  of  the  Jus- 
tice, and  how  he  had  unmasked  this  unjust  magistrate  in  the 
Viguerie  at  Grasse.  Then  he  besought  mother  Menon's  blessing, 
since  all  this  had  happened  without  any  fault  on  the  part  of  Ma- 
rietta or  himself. 

Father  Jerome,  who  for  a  long  while  could  not  make  out 
what  had  happened,  when  he  received  a  full  explanation  of  the 
marriage  through  mistake,  piously  folded  his  hands  and  exclaimed 
with  uplifted  eyes,  "  Wonderful  are  the  dispensations  of  Provi- 
dence." Colin  and  Marietta  kissed  his  hands;  mother  Manon, 
through  sheer  veneration  of  Heaven,  gave  the  young  couple  her 
blessing,  but  remarked  incidentally,  that  her  head  seemed  turned 
round. 

Frau  Manon  herself  was  pleased  with  her  son-in-law,  when 
she  came  to  know  the  full  extent  of  his  property,  and  especially 
when  she  found  that  Herr  Hautmartin  and  his  nose  had  been 
taken  as  prisoner  to  Grasse. 

"  But  am  I  then  really  a  wife  ?"  asked  Marietta ;  "  and  really 
Colin's  wife  ?" 

Mother  Menon  nodded  her  head,  and  Marietta  hung  upon  Colin's 
arm.  Thus  they  went  to  Colin's  farm,  to  his  dwelling-house, 
through  the  garden. 

"  Look  at  the  flowers,  Marietta,"  said  Colin,  "  how  carefully  I 
cultivated  them  for  your  cup  !" 

Colin,  who  had  not  expected  so  pleasant  an  event,  now  prepared 
a  wedding  feast  on  the  spur  of  the  occasion.  Two  days  was  it 
continued.  All  Napoule  was  feasted.  Who  shall  describe  Co- 
lin's rapture  and  extravagance  ? 

The  broken  cup  is  preserved  in  the  family  to  the  present  day, 
as  a  memorial  and  sacred  relic.  P.  G. 


JONATHAN  FROCK. 


JONATHAN  FROCK. 


In  the  metropolis,  and  perhaps  in  the  whole  kingdom,  no  man, 
for  a  long  time,  had  been  more  highly  esteemed  than  Herr  Von 
Schwarz,  the  first  judge  of  the  criminal  courts,  whose  writings 
had  even  gained  him  celebrity  in  foreign  countries.  Fortune 
seemed  willing  to  exhaust  herself  in  showering  favours  upon  him. 
Though  the  son  of  a  poor  weaver,  his  talents  had  procured  him  a 
scholarship,  by  which  he  was  enabled  to  attend  the  high  school, 
and  afterward  to  study  the  profession  of  law.  Almost  without  a 
farthing,  he  came  to  the  metropolis  to  earn  his  bread  as  an  attor- 
ney ;  immediately  undertook  a  difficult  lawsuit  that  had  been 
given  up  as  lost,  and  gained  the  cause,  which  so  fixed  his  reputa- 
tion, that  within  a  year  he  became  one  of  the  busiest  and  most 
popular  barristers  of  the  city.  Appearing  everywhere  loaded 
with  honours,  rewards  and  flattery,  he  was  introduced  to  the 
society  of  the  most  illustrious  men,  and  in  the  best  houses  was 
considered  an  intimate  friend.  He  married  one  of  the  hand- 
somest and  richest  young  girls  of  the  city,  was  taken  into  the  em- 
ployment of  the  ministry,  and  advanced  from  office  to  office. 
The  king  bestowed  titles  and  orders  upon  him,  and  for  important 
services  he  had  rendered,  he  received  a  foreign  order,  to  which  a 
large  income  was  attached  ;  it  was  indeed  often  whispered  that 
he  would  be  made  minister  of  state.  In  short,  every  one  declared 
Herr  Von  Schwarz  to  be  the  happiest  of  men.  He  possessed  the 
most  brilliant  prospects,  great  estates,  excellent  talents,  a  lovely 
wife,  and  beautiful  children  ;  and  moreover,  all  agreed  that  no 
one  could  be  more  worthy  of  so  much  good  fortune.  Herr  Von 
Schwarz  was  universally  looked  upon  as  a  tender  husband  and 
father,  an  unwearied  man  of  business,  a  true  friend,  a  most  agree- 
able  companion,  and  the  most  pleasing  of  men  in  conversation. 

I 


118 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


We  must  not,  however,  allow  ourselves  to  be  blinded  by- 
appearances.  Herr  Von  Schwarz  was  in  fact  a  very  unhappy 
man,  and  what  is  more,  was  unworthy  of  happiness.  Doubtless 
his  address,  industry,  and  talents,  were  sufficient  to  make  him 
respected  ;  but  not  the  qualities  of  his  heart.  He  belonged  to 
thai  class  of  persons  whom  we  can  call  nothing  more  than  pru- 
dent or  cunning ;  strictly  just  in  affairs  of  business — in  some 
cases  even  more  than  just ;  yet  gold,  honour,  and  pleasure,  were 
the  secret  trinity,  for  which  he  laboured,  and  sacrificed  every- 
thing. He  was  too  liberal,  to  have  either  conscience  or  religion, 
and  too  deeply  versed  in  human  nature,  ever  to  confide  with  the 
feelings  of  friendship  in  another  heart.  He  trusted  no  one, 
because  he  knew  himself,  and  looked  upon  those  who  acted  differ- 
ently, as  fools.  He  loved  himself  from  instinct,  yet  if  he  had 
seen  any  one  like  himself,  he  would  have  been  afraid  of  him.  In 
his  own  house,  moreover,  he  led  a  most  unhappy  life.  There  he 
was  the  tyrant ;  his  wife  he  treated  with  contempt,  and  his  sons 
(two  promising  boys)  trembled  like  slaves  in  his  presence  ;  though 
he  sometimes  treated  them  with  great  kindness,  he  did  not  trouble 
himself  about  their  education,  having  more  important  matters  to 
attend  to.  No  one  knew  the  misery  of  his  household,  but  those 
who  belonged  to  it ;  and  when  it  was  rumoured  by  gossiping 
servants,  it  was  either  disbelieved,  or  thought  quite  excusable  that 
a  man  who  was  so  much  occupied,  should  at  times  be  out  of 
temper.  . 

Others  threw  all  the  blame  upon  his  wife.  It  was  decided  she 
was  wanting  in  the  necessary  cultivation  of  mind,  was  not  a  great 
housekeeper,  was  a  little  goose,  or  anything  they  chose  to  say. 
His  domestic  troubles  were  observed  by  few ;  for  if  any  one 
visited  him,  there  appeared  but  one  heart,  and  one  soul  pervading 
the  house :  he,  the  most  attentive  of  husbands,  the  kindest  of 
fathers,  and  every  one  full  of  love  and  cordiality  toward  him. 
No  one  considered  that  this  might  only  be  habitual  politeness. 
They  could  only  envy  his  happiness. 


For  two  years  there  had  been  in  the  family  of  Herr  Von 
Schwarz,  a  young  man,  by  the  name  of  Jonathan  Frock ;  he 


JONATHAN  FROCK. 


119 


played  the  part  of  a  tutor  to  the  children,  but  was  as  much 
a  slave,  as  every  one  else  in  the  Rath's  house.  Herr  Von 
Schwarz  possessed  a  peculiar  talent  (if  I  may  so  call  it)  for  tor- 
menting everybody  in  the  best  possible  manner.  After  telling  his 
wife  that  she  was  not  capable  of  being  a  good  wife,  and  had 
neither  wit  nor  understanding,  then  he  told  the  tutor  that  he  was 
an  awkward  fellow,  who  did  not  know  how  to  behave  himself, 
and  had  no  idea  of  teaching  children.  In  fact,  Herr  Von  Schwarz 
assumed  the  tone  of  an  instructor  to  his  children's  tutor,  and  op- 
pressed poor  Frock  dreadfully. 

Either  too  timid  or  too  good,  Frock  silently  acquiesced  in  the 
Rath's  weekly  assertion — that  he  looked  upon  him  as  the  superin- 
tendent of  his  children,  and  not  as  their  instructor.  If  Frock  ven- 
tured to  say  a  word  in  his  own  defence,  he  might  be  sure  that 
Herr  Von  Schwarz  would  shrug  his  shoulders  with  assumed  com- 
passion, or  turn  his  back  upon  him,  with  the  words,  "  all  labour  is 
lost  upon  you." 

But  with  all  this,  it  could  not  be  denied,  that  since  Frock  had 
lived  in  the  house,  Schwarz's  children,  who,  before  this,  were  ex- 
cessively wild,  had  improved  very  much.  They  had  learned 
obedience  and  respect  for  their  mother,  and  now  turned  toward 
her  with  love  and  esteem.  They  appeared  better  bred,  more  de- 
sirous of  learning,  less  malicious  to  their  playfellows,  and  clung 
to  Herr  Frock  with  the  greatest  affection.  He  taught  them  read- 
ing, writing,  arithmetic,  German  history,  geography,  and  other 
things  that  Herr  Von  Schwarz  little  dreamed  of. 

Travelling  once  with  his  sons,  they  were  obliged  to  sleep  in  the 
same  room,  at  an  inn,  where,  to  his  astonishment,  he  saw  the 
children,  after  they  were  undressed,  kneel  down. 

"What  farce  is  this?"  cried  he.  They  did  not  answer,  but 
folded  their  hands,  raised  their  eyes  to  heaven,  and  prayed — first 
the  oldest  boy,  half  aloud ;  then  he  was  silent,  and  the  youngest 
commenced.  What  they  said  was  nothing  learned  by  heart,  for 
it  related  to  the  events  of  the  past  day  ;  father  and  mother,  Frock, 
and  every  playfellow  were  remembered. 

Herr  Von  Schwarz  did  not  lose  a  word,  and  the  whale  thing 
appeared  ridiculous  to  him. 

"I  believe,  upon  my  honour,"  said  he  to*  Frock,  when  Kb 


120 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


returned,  "  that  you  are  a  Moravian,  and  teach  the  children 
hypocrisy.  What  is  the  use  of  the  boys'  kneeling  down  in  their 
shirts  at  night,  and  praying?  Children  cannot  understand  re- 
ligion, and  I  wish  them  to  hear  nothing  about  it  till  they  come  to 
mature  years;  then  they  can  judge  of  such  things  correctly,  and 
without  prejudice;  I  set  no  value  upon  a  taught  religion.  Re- 
ligion must  unfold  itself  to  man  from  his  internal  consciousness. 
What  we  say  to  children  on  such  subjects  is  beyond  their  com- 
prehension, and  becomes  either  prejudice  or  a  pernicious  habit  of 
dissimulation ;  from  which  it  is  difficult  for  the  more  mature 
judgment  to  break  loose.  Are  you  a  Moravian  ?" 
"  No,  indeed  I  am  not,"  replied  Frock. 

"  Of  what  religion  are  you  then  ?  Catholic,  Lutheran,  or  Re- 
formed V 

Frock  again  coloured,  and  was  silent  from  timid  embarrass- 
ments. 

"  Speak,  for  I  must,  and  will  know.  It  cannot  be  a  matter  of 
indifference  to  me,  with  what  opinions  my  children  first  become 
acquainted;  each  church  has  its  prejudices.  I  wish  you  could 
dance,  or  had  more  grace  and  external  advantages ;  for  in  this 
age,  these  would  be  of  more  use  to  my  sons  than  religious  prat- 
tling, which  children  neither  need  nor  understand." 

"If  you  will  allow  me,  Herr  Rath,"  said  Frock,  "  I  think  the 
need  is  felt  more  deeply  by  children,  than  you  may  perhaps  im- 
agine. Among  all  the  things  an  innocent  and  inquisitive  child 
wishes  to  know,  he  certainly  asks  with  most  interest  about  the 
supernatural,  the  origin  of  things,  the  destiny  of  the  soul  beyond 
the  grave,  and  about  God ;  who  and  where  he  is.  Such  ques- 
tions betoken  the  need  of  the  child,  and  the  spark  of  divinity 
within.  The  first  approach  of  the  childish  heart  to  the  invisible 
world,  gives  him  strength,  a  consciousness  of  the  dignity  of  human 
nature,  and  a  love  of  virtue,  without  which  man  ever  remains  an 
amiable  but  dangerous  creature." 

"  Quite  right,  Herr  Frock,  only  after  your  usual  fashion,  you 
set  out  on  a  wrong  proposition.  Pray,  who  made  you  believe 
that  children  are  rilled  with  desire  for  the  invisible  and  spiritual, 
because  they  are  fond  of  asking  questions  about  what  they  can- 
not understand  ?    Do  you  not  know,  they  like  best  to  hear  of 


JONATHAN  FROCK. 


121 


ghosts,  robbers,  fairies,  jugglers  and  everything  that  is  wonderful 
and  inexplicable?  Why  should  they  not  ask  as  much  about 
heaven  and  hell,  God  and  angels  !  And  what  you  tell  them  on 
these  subjects,  be  it  true  or  not,  they  believe  the  more  readily  the 
more  extraordinary  it  is.  Observe  this,  dear  friend,  if  notwith- 
standing your  overpowering  stock  of  imagination,  you  can  still 
discern  a  simple  truth,  that  the  more  ignorant  a  man  is,  the  more 
he  is  inclined  to  believe  in  the  wonderful  and  supernatural." 

"  May  I  express  my  opinion,  Herr  Rath  ?" 

"  As  you  please  ;  I  am  prepared  to  hear  something  very  wise." 

"  1  will  not  deny,  that  the  more  ignorant  a  man  is,  the  more  he 
is  inclined  to  believe  in  the  wonderful  and  supernatural.  Whence, 
however,  this  inclination,  which  leads  him  from  the  lowest  and 
most  common  to  the  sublime  ?  This  impulse  lies  deep  in  human 
nature,  and  is  the  indisputable  work  of  his  Creator.  As  every 
flame  of  light  is  never  earthbound,  but  always  rises  toward 
heaven,  whence  streams  the  greatest  light ;  so  every  soul  feels 
the  consciousness  that,  more  than  all  earthly  things,  it  may  aspire 
to  the  highest  spirituality.  In  the  ways  and  means  of  improve- 
ment, it  may  err,  but  still  its  desire  for  what  is  most  elevated  and 
imperishable,  is  innate.  If  in  the  progress  of  years,  it  gains  more 
cultivation  :  it  then  but  becomes  more  artificial,  and  its  natural 
condition  is  overpowered  by  the  artificial.  Discovering,  at  length, 
that  it  has  erred  in  the  way  and  means,  the  soul  becomes  mis- 
trustful of  the  spiritual  impulse,  which  first  drew  it  to  a  belief  in 
the  eternal  and  sublime  ;  and  therefore,  conceiving  it  great  wis- 
dom to  repose  entirely  upon  its  reasoning  powers,  it  accustoms 
itself  to  explain  everything  by  natural  causes,  and  regards  nothing 
as  true,  which  does  not  belong  to  the  visible  and  natural  world. 
In  this  state  the  soul  imagines  itself  most  natural,  when  it  believes 
the  least,  though  in  fact  it  is  all  the  while  most  unnatural, 
because  it  strives  against  the  laws  of  nature  within  :  until  finally 
it  perceives  that  it  has  wandered  from  the  truth,  since  it  has  be- 
come unsettled  and  unhappy.  All  man's  discontent  is  caused  by 
his  departure  from  nature,  his  inconsistency,  and  because  he 
wishes  to  become  what  he  cannot  be.  Experience  at  last  makes 
him  wiser,  and  the  more  he  learns,  the  more  he  feels  that  he  can- 
not understand  the  grass  that  grows,  nor  point  out,  to  God,  the 


122 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


motes  in  the  sunbeam.  The  more  his  knowledge  increases,  the 
more  is  he  convinced  that  he  knows  but  little.  The  sage 
approaches,  although  by  another  path,  to  the  childlike  nature, 
and  his  perception  of  the  narrowness  of  human  knowledge,  brings 
him  back  to  the  belief  in  the  Invisible  and  Eternal." 

"  My  good  friend,"  said  Herr  Von  Schwarz,  "  I  have  heard  all 
this  before,  and  I  can  only  reply,  that  you  have  foolishly  mixed 
up  much  truth  and  error,  with  the  strong  tendency  to  mysticism 
which  you  possess ;  you  have  probably  read  something  in  a  book, 
which  you  have  not  understood,  and  now  give  it  forth  in  a  dis- 
torted shape.  You  fancy  your  power  of  imagination  is  depth  of 
judgment,  and  there  is  your  mistake." 

"  I  beg,  Herr  Rath,  that  you  will  at  least  show  me  where  my 
power  of  imagination  has  misled  me  in  what  I  have  just  said,  or 
where  1  have  misunderstood  what  I  have  read  V 

"  Young  man,  when  you  speak  of  children,  and  of  ignorance, 
you  may  speak  from  experience ;  but  he  who  wishes  to  speak  of 
the  wisdom  of  men,  must  belong  either  to  their  ranks,  or  take 
something  out  of  books.  Do  you  now  speak  from  books,  or,  more 
wisely,  from  experience  ?  But  I  am  losing  time.  The  main 
point  remains — spare  my  sons  your  whims ;  you  will  do  me  a 
favour.  And  now  I  must  ask,  to  what  religion  do  you  really 
belong  ?" 

Frock  coloured  and  said  nothing. 

"  I  am  accustomed  to  receive  an  answer  when  I  ask  a  ques- 
tion," said  Herr  Von  Schwarz,  in  his  usual  tone  of  command. 

"Herr  Rath,"  said  Frock,  "I  can  be  silent  no  longer ;  you 
understand,  better  than  any  one,  the  art  of  lowering  a  man  in  his 
own  opinion,  and  of  destroying  all  belief  in  his  own  worth.  I 
would  have  left  your  house  long  since,  had  I  not  borne  every 
slight  from  love  to  your  sons,  who  have  twined  themselves  round 
my  heart.  I  know  that  I  have  too  little  merit  in  your  eyes  to  be 
of  any  importance  ;  but  be  generous  enough,  at  least,  to  leave  me 
confidence  in  myself." 

"  Well,  Frock,  these  are  your  usual  subterfuges;  were  I  to 
trouble  myself  to  bring  you  to  your  senses,  and  to  a  more  just 
view  of  things,  I  should  not  succeed  ;  for  my  part,  if  you  wish  to 
leave  the  house,  I  shall  not  detain  you.    My  children  have  out- 


JONATHAN  FROCK. 


123 


grown  your  guidance  ;  they  should  study  Latin  and  Greek,  which 
you  do  not  understand,  while  you  are  deficient  in  many  other 
necessary  branches.  But  do  as  you  like.  Only  remember  my 
words,  whenever  you  go  into  the  world,  you  will  be  the  loser. 
Self-conceit,  and  a  total  unfitness  for  the  simplest  concerns  of  life, 
will  bring  you  to  misery.  By  whom  are  you  either  cared  for  or 
esteemed  ?  Do  you  not  live  like  a  hermit,  in  the  midst  of  the 
city  ?" 

With  this,  Herr  Von  Schwarz  turned  away,  and  Frock  went 
sorrowfully  to  his  pupils. 


Such  discussions  often  took  place  between  these  two  persons, 
but  they  did  not  cause  Frock  to  leave  the  house.  He  really 
clung  with  inexpressible  affection  to  Schwarz's  children,  and 
usually,  after  a  conversation  with  their  father,  he  drew  them  more 
closely  to  his  heart,  murmuring : 

"  You  are  the  only  ones  who  understand  and  appreciate  me ; 
if  I  lose  you,  I  lose  all." 

If  Frock  had  left  the  house,  he  would  have  been  entirely  with- 
out prospects  for  the  future.  Probably  the  Rath  knew  this  full 
well ;  nor  did  he  ever  forget  that  Frock  came  to  him  in  very 
needy  circumstances.  As  Schwarz  at  that  time  required  an  in- 
structor, or  rather  a  superintendent  for  his  children,  he  had  taken 
him  for  little  more  than  board  and  lodgings ;  no  agreement  was 
made  either  as  to  fees  or  salary,  so  that  whatever  Schwarz  be- 
stowed, although  it  was  scarcely  sufficient  for  respectable  clothing, 
was  considered  as  a  favour.  This  was  all  right  in  the  Rath's 
estimation,  for  every  body  and  every  thing  must  be  subservient 
to  his  caprices. 

On  this  account,  Jonathan  Frock  led  a  quiet,  secluded  life,  and 
rarely  mixed  in  society.  He  was  most  gay  and  open-hearted, 
when  he  was  with  his  two  little  friends  whom  he  educated ;  when 
he  could  be  inspired  with  confidence,  he  seemed  a  different  crea- 
ture ;  he  became  more  lively,  more  eloquent ;  his  eyes  flashed 
with  inward  fire ;  but  this  disappeared  the  moment  he  felt  him- 
self a  stranger  and  out  of  place.    In  the  house  of  Schwarz  a  re- 


124 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


served  manner  had  almost  become  a  second  nature  to  him.  Frau 
Von  Schwarz  encouraged  him  as  little  as  her  husband  ;  she 
treated  Frock  and  all  her  servants  in  the  same  haughty  manner 
that  Rath  maintained  toward  her,  and  there  was,  therefore,  a 
greater  distance  between  the  tutor  and  herself,  than  there  was 
between  him  and  Herr  Von  Schwarz. 

Frock,  in  his  exterior,  was  not  ill-looking ;  not  handsome,  per- 
haps, but  well  made,  with  an  open,  agreeable,  and  rather  pale 
countenance ;  which  was  rendered  even  paler,  by  jet-black  curl- 
ing hair,  and  soft  white  hands,  which  many  a  maiden  might  envy 
bim.  He  had  a  low  melodious  voice,  and  much  grace  of  manner, 
when  he  became  animated  in  conversation.  He  was  apparently 
about  eight-and-twenty  years  of  age  ;  his  dress,  though  very  sim- 
ple, was  always  perfectly  neat.  A  religious  feeling  evinced 
itself  in  his  conversation,  yet  he  seldom  or  never  went  to  church. 
Often  in  his  gayest  mood,  and  when,  with  laughing  eyes,  he 
seemed  inclined  to  give  himself  up  to  amusement,  he  would  sud- 
denly become  silent,  and  one  could  perceive  that  some  sad  recol- 
lection came  over  him.  Frequently,  in  the  most  indifferent 
conversation,  without  any  reason,  he  would  colour,  and  become 
embarrassed ;  a  certain  proof,  either  that  he  was  irritable,  or  (as 
his  paleness  indicated)  of  uncertain  health.  In  the  eyes  of  the 
Rath,  however,  these  changes  betokened  something  evil.  He  had, 
therefore,  at  different  times  urgently  inquired  about  it ;  but  could 
discover  nothing  more  than  that  Frock  was  a  native  of  Alsace, 
born  of  poor  parents,  and  had  served  as  a  common  soldier  under 
the  French  colours  in  Switzerland,  Italy,  and  Egypt.  Having 
been  wounded  in  the  leg  by  a  cannon-ball,  he  became  tired  of  a 
soldier's  life,  and  abandoned  it,  probably  without  leave. 

As  Frock  conducted  himself  in  the  most  quiet  and  irreproach- 
able manner,  the  Rath  did  not  push  the  matter  further,  but 
looked  upon  him  as  an  insignificant  person,  and  never  for  a  mo- 
ment imagined  that  he  would  have  an  important  influence  on  his 
destiny. 


A  few  weeks  after  this  conversation,  an  event  took  place,  which 
removed  brother  Wonderful  (as  Herr  Von  Schwarz  called  Frook) 


JONATHAN  FROCK. 


125 


suddenly  from  the  house.  Fie  was  instructing  the  children  in 
history,  and  was  speaking,  with  his  usual  warmth,  of  the  Moham- 
medan religion ;  of  the  many  excellencies  contained  in  the  Koran 
of  the  Turks,  and  of  the  virtues,  which  are  more  frequently 
found  in  disciples  of  the  prophet  of  Mecca,  than  among  Christians. 
At  this  moment  Herr  Von  Schwarz  came  in  ;  he  listened  for  a 
time  smiling,  but  smiling  bitterly,  for  he  was  out  of  humour.  He 
had  heard  accidentally,  that  at  court  they  had  been  amusing 
themselves  over  one  of  his  reports  upon  judicial  reform  ;  wishing, 
therefore,  for  a  pretence,  he  vented  his  indignation  in  angry  mock- 
ery of  the  pale,  patient  expounder  of  the  Arabian  prophet.  Frock 
was  silent,  and  gazed  sadly  around  him.  The  boys  did  not  listen 
to  their  father,  but  looked  sorrowfully  in  their  teacher's  eyes,  as  if 
they  wished  to  console  him  ;  and  laid  their  hands  upon  his  shoul- 
der, seeming  to  say,  "  Compose  yourself,  we  still  belong  to  you.'' 

This  scene  was  interrupted  by  the  appearance  of  Major  Von 
Tulpen,  a  retired  king's  officer,  who  was  in  the  habit  of  visiting 
at  the  house.  He  was  related  to  the  Herr  Von  Schwarz,  and 
supposed  himself  a  very  good  friend  of  the  Rath's,  for,  in  past 
years,  when  Herr  Von  Schwarz  was  very  little  known,  he  had 
rendered  him  important  services.  At  that  time  Schwarz  had 
lived  with  the  major  a  year  and  a  half  without  compensation,  and 
his  recommendations  had  also  been  the  means  of  opening  to  him 
his  subsequently  brilliant  career.  Herr  Von  Tulpen  was  a  re- 
markably brave,  but  somewhat  hasty  man  ;  who  was  very  fond 
of  telling  stories  of  his  past  campaigns,  though  his  memory  rather 
failed  him  in  names  and  numbers. 

It  was  this  very  deficiency  in  his  memory  for  numbers,  which 
now  brought  him  to  Herr  Von  Schwarz. 

"  I  am  in  a  cursed  plight,  good  friend  Rath,"  cried  he ;  "  you 
must  do  me  a  kind  turn." 

"  With  all  my  heart,  my  dear  friend,"  said  Herr  Von  Schwarz. 
"  I  am  listening  with  delight  to  the  instruction  of  my  children,  and 
the  commendation  of  the  Turkish  religion,  from  the  lips  of  this 
youth.  We  will  not  allow  the  Mussulmen  to  excel  us  in  the  vir- 
tues of  friendship,  generosity,  gratitude,  and  charity." 

"  So  much  the  better  ;  I  come  just  at  the  right  moment,"  cried 


126 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


Ilerr  Von  Tulpen,  "  for  I  mast  have  money,  even  should  I  steal 
it.    Come  ;  a  few  words  with  you  in  private." 

The  word  money  had  its  effect  upon  Herr  Von  Schwarz ;  he 
was  not  accustomed  to  have  the  major  beg  favours,  much  less 
money,  from  him,  and  he  hoped,  by  avoiding  a  tete-a-tete,  to 
escape  his  urgent  request  more  easily. 

"  Speak  without  reserve,"  said  he  ;  "I  have  no  secrets  with 
my  children  and  their  tutor." 

"  The  deuce  !  that's  good,"  said  the  major,  embarrassed  ;  u  but 
I  do  not  want  to  expose  my  situation  to  every  one." 

This  was  exactly  what  Schwarz  wished  ;  and  he  therefore  re- 
mained in  the  study,  in  spite  of  all  the  oaths  and  entreaties  of  the 
major,  whose  anxiety  betrayed  itself  in  every  feature.  Whatever 
he  said,  Schwarz  treated  as  a  joke.  The  major  ran  up  and  down 
the  room,  (Schwarz  hoped  he  would  run  out  of  it,)  then  stood  still, 
and  after  whirling  his  military  hat  three  times  round,  said : 

"  Well,  the  old  nick  must  have  been  in  me,  when  I  was  so  stu- 
pid as  to  let  that  merchant — merchant  what  d'ye  call  him  ? — you 
know,  my  neighbour  there,  who  has  failed  and  gone  off;  in  short, 
that  I  should  have  let  him  give  my  name  as  his  security  for 
a  thousand  florins ;  I,  who  do  not  own  a  thousand  florins,  must 
now  pay  a  thousand  florins — think  of  that !  J,  who  have  not  a 
thousand  groats !" 

"  That  is  very  bad,"  said  Herr  Von  Schwarz,  very  seriously 
and  politely.    "  Are  you  the  only  security  '?" 

"  The  only  one ;  think  of  it !  and  as  the  confounded  paper 
stands,  my  whole  property  is  in  pledge  at  present,  and  for  the  fu- 
ture. I  have  told  them  explicitly  at  court,  very  explicitly,  that  I 
have  not  a  thousand  groats  ;  and  I  have  told  that  Finanz  Rath — 
what  d'ye  call  him  ? — to  whom  I  had  to  pay  the  thousand  florins, 
the  same.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  I  shrugged  mine,  and 
so  we  parted.  I  now  thought  it  was  settled,  for  the  present,  very 
much  to  the  loss  of  the  Finanz  Rath.  Well,  I  waited  for  my 
pension  till  quarter-day ;  waited  three  or  four  weeks  longer — 
nothing  came.  Not  a  groat  in  the  house,  the  last  potato  cooked, 
no  baker  paid  for  three  weeks,  and  the  butcher's  bill  sent  in.  I 
must  eat ;  my  two  girls  are  also  flesh  and  blood.  I  ran  to  the 
war-office,  thinking  they  had  forgotten  it.     The  Herr  there 


JONATHAN  FROCK. 


127 


shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  said,  ;  I  am  very  sorry,  Finanz  Rath 
— what  is  his  name  ? — has  caused  your  pension  to  be  sequestered  ; 
you  certainly  know  it  V  1  Go  to  the  old  Harry  !'  said  I,  '  I  know 
nothing  about  it/'  I  run  to  Finanz  Rath — what  d'ye  call  him  ? — 
he  shrugs  his  shoulders,  and  says :  '  The  court  has  sentenced 
you,  as  the  merchant's  security,  to  meet  his  payments  ;  you  know 
that,  major  V  1  The  court  go  to  the  dogs  !  I  know  nothing  about 
it.  What  shall  I  and  my  two  daughters  live  upon  ?  I  can 
scarcely  escape  starvation,  with  my  major's  and  captain's  half- 
pay.'  I  then  begged  the  Finanz  Rath  for  five  dollars  every  quar- 
ter, and  promised  to  pay  it,  however  slowly.  He  shrugged  his 
shoulders.  May  the  furies  take  all  shoulder-shruggers  !  I  now 
come  to  you." 

The  Rath  seemed  very  much  disposed  to  shrug  his  shoulders 
too  ;  but  said,  however  :  "  It  is  certainly  very  bad  ;  you  did  very 
wrong  in  standing  security  so  thoughtlessly.  There  is  nothing  to 
be  done  unless  to  protest  against  the  sentence  of  the  court." 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  protest  against  the  sentence  of  the  court ; 
but"  do  you  help  me  in  my  great  need.  I  know  no  one  but  you, 
and  it  is  to  you,  therefore,  I  come.  Advance  me  a  thousand 
florins  ;  I  will  repay  you  fifty  every  year.  I  do  not  wish  you  to 
give  it  to  me;  in  a  few  years  you  will  have  it  all  back." 

"  By  a  few  years  you  mean  twenty,"  said  Herr  Von  Schwarz, 
and  thoughtfully  turned  away  his  head. 

"  Well,  yes — twenty." 

"  But,  my  dear  friend,"  continued  the  Rath,  and  stepped  back 
a  little,  "  one  is  not  always  in  cash.  I  have  really  no  ready 
money." 

"  Will  nobody  lend  you  ?" 

"  I  have  debts  already  that  you  know  nothing  of.  It  is  not  in 
my  power  to  help  you  at  this  time." 

"  Not  in  your  power  ?"  stammered  Herr  Von  Tulpen,  and,  for 
a  moment,  could  say  no  more.  "  Or,  to  speak  more  plainly,  you 
will  not  do  it." 

"  The  way,  not  the  will,  is  wanting,  dear  major." 

"  Then  I  must  buy  a  farthing's  worth  of  powder,  and  put  a 
ball  through  my  head ;  and  you  must  support  my  little  Leonore, 
as  she  is  your  god-daughter." 


128 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


The  Rath  shrugged  his  shoulders  instead  of  answering.  The 
major,  in  the  greatest  despair,  implored  his  assistance  in  the  most 
touching  manner.  Firmly,  politely,  but  very  decidedly,  the  Rath 
refused.  Fortunately,  at  this  moment,  a  servant  announced  a 
visitor.    Herr  Von  Schwarz  bowed  and  left  the  room. 

u  Then  you  will  not  V  called  the  major  after  him. 

" 1  cannot,"  said  the  Rath  coldly,  at  the  door,  and  disappeared. 

The  major  staggered,  and  sunk  upon  the  nearest  chair,  remain- 
ing for  some  time  motionless.  At  last,  tearing  his  hat  with  fury, 
and  turning  his  eyes  to  heaven,  he  cried,  in  a  hollow,  despairing 
voice : 

"  Must  I  and  my  children  starve  ?" 


Frock  would  have  long  since  retired,  with  his  pupils,  but  was 
observing  the  major  with  much  compassion.  He  now  timidly  ap- 
proached him,  and  said,  in  a  low  voice,  and  with  great  respect : 
"  Pray,  wait  a  moment." 

"  Go  to  the  devil !"  said  the  major,  in  a  tone  of  thunder. 

"  Pray,  wait  one  moment,"  repeated  Frock  imploringly,  and 
left  the  room  hastily.  He  returned  in  a  few  minutes,  and  going 
up  to  the  major,  offered  him  a  snuff-box.  Herr  Von  Tulpen  took 
no  notice  of  him,  and  sat  lost  in  thought. 

"  Take  it,"  said  Frock. 

"Away!"  cried  the  major,  thumping  his  cane  on  the  floor. 
"  Does  he  think  me  a  fool  ?    I  do  not  snuff." 

"  This  box  is  worth  more  than  a  thousand  florins  :  I  give  it  to 
you  !    Pray  take  it,  Herr  Major  ?" 

The  major  looked  at  the  box  angrily,  askance,  but  opened  his 
eyes,  when  he  saw  its  wonderful  brilliancy.  It  was  a  valuable 
gold  box,  worked  in  enamel,  and  set  with  large  diamonds.  Herr 
Von  Tulpen  looked  first  at  the  box,  then  at  Frock. 

"  What  is  it  for  ?"  said  he. 

"  Take  it,  Herr  Major ;  you  can  pay  your  debts  with  it.  I 
will  go  with  you  to  the  jeweller's,  for  him  to  set  a  value  on  it. 

Come  !" 

"  Herr !"  cried  the  major  rising,  and  in  a  much  more  gentle 
voice,  "  who  are  you  V 


JONATHAN  FROCK. 


129 


"  My  name  is  Jonathan  Frock." 

"Jonathan  Frock?  And  do  you  think  that  that — what  d'ye 
call  it  ? — is  worth  a  thousand  florins  ?" 

"  More  than  that,  among  connoisseurs.  Come  !"  answered 
Frock. 

"  And  you  will  pay  my  debts  with  it  ?" 
"  Certainly  :  with  all  my  heart." 
"  But  who  are  you  ?" 

"  I  am  Jonathan  Frock,  the  tutor  of  these  children." 

The  old  man  was  silent :  he  looked  at  Frock  till  the  tears  in 
his  eyes  blinded  him.  He  then  embraced  him,  saying,  in  low 
broken  accents  : 

"  Then,  Jonathan,  let  me  be  your  David  f" 

Frock  quieted  him,  and  they  proceeded  to  the  jeweller's.  The 
box  was  valued  at  twelve  hundred  florins,  and  the  jeweller  at 
length  bought  it  at  that  price — though  he  assured  them  a  thou- 
sand times  that  he  had  been  too  hasty  in  estimating  its  value. 
They  then  went  to  the  major's  creditor.  The  debt  was  paid ; 
everything  set  right  at  the  war-office,  and  the  major  reinstated  in 
his  quarter's  pay. 

In  the  meantime,  the  Rath  had  learned  the  whole  occurrence 
from  his  children.  "  A  gold  snuff-box,  set  with  diamonds,"  re- 
peated he,  at  least  twenty  times ;  "  how  did  the  wretch  come  by 
a  gold  snuff-box  ?"  He  found  an  answer  as  soon  as  he  had  ask- 
ed the  question  :  "  Stolen  !"  said  he  ;  immediately  sent  for  a  lock- 
smith, and  had  Frock's  little  trunk  opened.  He  himself  looked 
to  see  if  it  contained  no  valuable  articles;  but,  excepting  some 
crumpled  papers,  linen,  and  clothes,  he  found  nothing. 

He  had  just  finished  his  search,  when  Frock  entered  in  his 
usual  quiet  way,  and  bowed  respectfully.  So  soon,  however,  as 
his  eyes  fell  upon  the  open  trunk,  his  countenance  suddenly 
changed,  from  astonishment  to  severity,  from  severity  to  anger. 

He  was  once  more  one  of  Napoleon's  soldiers.  He  gave  the 
Rath  a  blow  in  the  breast  with  his  fist,  shook  him  to  and  fro  sev- 
eral times,  and  then  threw  him  against  the  wall. 

"  How  !  have  you  presumed  to  ? — Do  you  take  me  for  a  thief?" 
cried  Frock,  in  a  violent,  lion-like  voice.    u  Who  gave  you  the 

PART  II.  10 


130 


ZSfJHOKKE'S  TALES. 


right  to  disturb  and  pull  over  other  people's  property,  and  to  break 
open  private  locks  ?    Do  you  not  know  the  laws  ?" 

The  Rath,  surprised  by  this  extraordinary  and  summary  mode 
of  proceeding,  lost  a  little  of  his  usual  coolness.  He  confessed, 
afterward,  that  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  he  had  lost  his  pres- 
ence of  mind.  There  was  nothing  for  him  even  to  find  fault 
with,  for,  besides  being  discovered  in  an  unlawful  act,  there  was 
something  fearful  and  unaccountable  in  Frock's  metamorphosis. 

This  once  submissive  and  timid  man  had  had  the  courage  to 
shake  a  Rath  j  and  he,  formerly  like  a  lamb,  was  now  terrible 
with  his  fiery  glance  and  severity.  The  thundering  tone  of  his 
voice  appeared  as  little  to  belong  to  him,  as  the  giant-like  strength 
of  his  arm. 

With  an  air  of  command,  Frock  showed  Herr  Von  Schwarz 
the  door;  who,  pale  and  trembling,  and  stammering  out  an  ex- 
cuse, prepared  to  leave  the  room.  Scarcely,  however,  had  he 
left  the  enemy's  territory,  when,  with  a  judge-like  majesty,  he 
turned  round  and  called  : 

"  Herr  Frock,  you  instantly  leave  my  house." 

Frock,  doubtless,  had  already  formed  some  such  intention  :  for 
he  had,  from  the  window,  beckoned  to  a  man  in  the  street  to  carry 
away  his  trunk,  which,  after  looking  over  the  papers  and  replacing 
the  books  and  clothes,  he  carefully  locked.  He  then  sought  his 
weeping  pupils,  embraced  them  with  silent  emotion,  and  left  the 
Schwarzen  house  for  ever. 


Very  early  the  next  morning,  Herr  Von  Tulpen  arrived.  He 
found  Frau  Von  Schwarz  alone  :  her  husband  had  gone  out  on 
business. 

"So  much  the  better,  dear  madam,"  said  the  major;  "for  I 
am  not  looking  for  him,  and  do  not  care  if  I  never  see  him  again. 
But  where  is  my  Jonathan  ?" 

"  Your  Jonathan,  Herr  Major  ?    I  do  not  know  him." 

"  What !  not  my  Jonathan  ?  He  is  commonly  called — how  is 
it  1 — Jonathan  Propf,  or  Kropf.  You  know  the — what  d'ye  call 
him  ?— the  tutor." 


JONATHAN  FROCK. 


131 


"  Ah !  Frock.  He  is  no  longer  with  us.  My  husband  sent 
him  out  of  the  house  yesterday." 

"  Out  of  the  house  !  Why  ?  because  he  is  more  generous  than 
your  husband  was  ?  I  am  a  poor  wretch  dependent  on  my  pen- 
sion—have nothing  but  my  quarter's  pay  ;  but  I  will  take  that 
Jonathan — what  d'ye  call  him  ? — home,  and  support  him  to  his 
last  hour." 

"  Take  care  !  He  is  a  bad  man  ;  he  has  not  a  good  conscience, 
as  he  discovered  long  since.  You  might  be  taking  a  wicked  com- 
panion into  your  house." 

"  A  wicked  companion  !"  cried  the  major,  his  face  colouring, 

and  his  eyes  flashing  with  anger  at  the  words.    "  Go  to  the   

but  I  will  say  nothing.  Pray,  my  dear  madam,  spare  me  all 
these  insinuations." 

"  You  misunderstand  me,  Herr  Major.  I  am  not  speaking  of 
you." 

"  But  of  Jonathan  Kropf.    Tell  me  immediately  where  he  is." 
"  He  left  us  yesterday." 
"  But  where  has  he  gone  V 
"  We  neither  know  nor  care." 

"  But  I  do.  Adieu !  No  ;  write  me  down  his  cursed  name 
first.  Is  it  Kropf?  Write  it  on  a  bit  of  paper.  I  will  go  from 
street  to  street,  and  will  soon  find  him." 

"  If  he  has  not  stolen  away,  he  would  scarcely  remain  in  the 
city,"  said  Frau  Von  Schwarz,  giving  him  the  name  upon  a  paper. 

Laughing  heartily,  the  major  put  up  the  paper,  saying,  "  Is 
your  husband  either  king  or  governor  ?"  touched  his  sword  sig- 
nificantly, bowed,  and  withdrew. 

He  went,  as  he  had  said,  from  street  to  street,  through  the 
whole  city  ;  returned  very  tired,  dined  with  his  children,  and 
again  setting  forth  in  the  afternoon,  questioned  all  the  acquaintan- 
ces whom  he  met.  This  he  continued,  day  after  day  ;  and  at 
length,  after  weeks  of  fruitless  searching,  he  gave  up  the  hope  of 
finding  in  the  city  his  dear  friend  in  need. 


And  yet  Frock  was  not  far  off.  He  had  spent  the  night  at  the 
best  hotel ;  the  next  day  he  had  hired  a  small  room  from  an  old 


132 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


widow-woman,  and  sent  an  advertisement  to  the  newspapers,  in- 
forming the  public,  that  in  the  Marktgasse  No.  1717,  in  the  first 
story,  and  at  any  hour  of  the  day,  persons  wishing  to  have  Ger 
man,  or  Latin,  well  copied,  or  rendered  from  German  into  French, 
or  vice  versa;  memorials  or  letters  composed,  would  meet  with 
speedy,  reasonable,  and  trustworthy  attention. 

Frock  had  chosen  a  mode  of  business  which  would  keep  him 
from  starving.  But,  he  did  not  omit  diligently  looking  through 
the  newspapers,  to  see  if  any  one  were  in  need  of  a  tutor ;  in  this 
hope  he  was.  however,  disappointed.  His  writing  and  copying 
office  soon  obtained  much  custom,  perhaps  from  the  large,  yet 
elegant  type  in  which  he  had  written,  upon  royal  folio,  the  sign 
hanging  outside  of  the  widow's  door. 

The  learned  brought  him  their  illegible  manuscripts  to  be  writ- 
ten over,  for  the  press.  Servants,  maids,  and  journeymen  called 
upon  him  to  compose  letters,  either  to  their  hard-hearted  relations, 
or  faithful  lovers.  Others  required  translations.  In  short,  he 
made  money  in  various  ways,  and  though  it  might  be  but  little,  it 
was  still  sufficient  for  his  more  immediate  wants.  His  business 
increased  in  the  course  of  a  few  months,  as  his  expertness  and 
reasonable  charges  became  known. 

His  very  remarkable  memory  was  of  the  utmost  advantage,  to 
those  who  had  forgotten  both  the  date  and  contents  of  the  letters 
they  had  given  him  to  write.  He  preserved  the  most  inimitable 
order ;  for  in  a  book  arranged  for  the  purpose,  he  always  noted 
down  the  date  of  the  letter,  the  name  of  the  person  who  had  sent 
it,  and  its  actual  contents. 

Though  his  occupation  was  a  laborious  one,  and  employed  him 
both  night  and  day ;  yet  it  was  not  without  some  amusement. 
He  learned  the  secrets  of  many  a  loving  heart,  the  affairs  of 
many  families,  before  unknown  to  him,  and  thus  extended  his 
knowledge  of  human  nature. 

This  state  of  independence  pleased  him.  It  seemed  to  him  as 
if,  in  leaving  the  Schwarzischen  house,  he  had  exchanged  Alge- 
rian slavery  for  blessed  freedom.  The  loss  of  his  beloved  pupils 
long  depressed  his  spirits;  but  this  sorrow  he  overcame,  and  the 
still  greater  one  of  having  no  one  to  cling  to,  or  whom  he  could  call 
his  own.    It  gave  him  great  pain,  when  a  stranger  one  day  came 


JONATHAN  FROCK. 


13? 


in,  and  begged  to  have  several  pages  of  a  long  political  negotia- 
tion copied  immediately;  on  opening  it,  he  recognized  the  hand- 
writing of  the  Rath  Von  Schwarz.  The  bearer  said  lie  would 
wait  till  it  was  finished,  as  it  did  not  require  to  be  beautifully,  but 
speedily  written.  Frock  performed  his  task  with  disgust,  for  it 
appeared  to  him,  as  if  every  moment  the  detested  countenance  of 
his  former  tyrant  was  before  him. 

He  very  seldom  went  into  society,  partly  from  want  of  time, 
but  still  more  from  the  want  of  money.  For  the  sake  of  health, 
he  sometimes  took  long  walks  in  the  fresh  air,  but  he  more  fre- 
quently made  use  of  his  good  Dolleux's  telescope,  to  examine  the 
neighbourhood  far  and  near.  The  back  of  his  room  overlooked  a 
number  of  gardens.  In  the  distance,  could  be  seen  the  suburbs 
of  the  town,  composed  for  the  most  part  of  small  ill-looking 
houses,  and  beyond  these  lay  the  open  country. 

No  astronomer  watches  nightly  more  diligently,  or  with  greater 
exactness,  the  starry  heavens  to  discover  a  comet  invisible  to  the 
naked  eye,  or  a  new  planet,  or  the  mountains  in  the  shining 
Venus,  than  did  Frock  every  day  inspect,  one  by  one,  the  objects 
of  his  horizon*  This  innocent  amusement  became,  at  length,  the 
only  pleasure  of  the  easily  contented  hermit.  He  regularly, 
every  day  at  the  same  hour,  stepped  to  the  window,  however 
pressing  might  be  the  work  laying  on  his  table  ;  if  customers 
came  in,  he  could  not  be  disturbed,  they  must  wait. 

The  reason  of  this  is  soon  told.  He  had  indeed  discovered  no 
star,  only  a  new  Venus.  His  observations  were  particularly  di- 
rected to  one  of  the  houses  in  the  distant  suburbs.  It  was  a  small, 
but  pretty  house;  the  back  of  it,  and  a  court-yard,  in  which  stood 
a  well,  alone  were  visible  to  him. 

To  this  well,  every  morning,  at  six  o'clock  in  summer,  and 
eight  in  the  winter,  came  a  maiden,  well  grown  and  delicately 
formed ;  she  filled  a  pail  with  water,  carried  it  into  the  house,  and 
was  sometimes  busied  in  this  way  for  more  than  an  hour.  The 
young  girl's  occupations  at  the  well  were  various ;  in  the  morn- 
ing, she  washed  vegetables  or  salad,  and  sometimes  even  her  face 
and  neck ;  but  did  everything  with  such  unsullied  grace,  that 
the  looker-on  would  have  been  prepossessed  in  her  favour,  even 
had  her  face  been  less  pretty.    That  the  water-bearer  was  beau- 


134 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


tiful,  however,  was  quite  apparent  to  our  astronomer.  Her  thick 
golden  hair,  which  usually  fell  in  curls  from  under  a  fine  snow- 
white  cap,  her  soft  red  cheeks,  the  beautiful  shape  of  her  nose, 
and  her  little  mouth,  certainly  spoke  in  favour  of  his  opinion.  He 
fancied  he  could  look  into  her  blue  eyes,  and  from  her  eyes,  into 
her  secret  heart.  Here  every  one  must  understand  he  was  rather 
too  imaginative.  Who  has  ever  been  able,  even  with  the  aid  of 
a  telescope,  to  make  discoveries  in  a  young  girl's  heart  ? 

According  to  Frock's  astronomical  theory,  the  young  girl  was 
no  common  servant  maid,  but  an  industrious,  thrifty,  citizen's 
daughter,  modest,  innocent,  grave  and  sensible.  Only  once,  in 
two  hundred  and  sixty-four  careful  observations,  he  thought  he 
heard  her  singing,  that  is,  through  his  telescope.  One  would 
imagine  her  voice  might  be  lost  in  the  immense  distance. 

At  first  he  supposed  her  to  be  a  washerwoman,  for  every  week, 
besides  carrying  in  the  water,  he  saw  her  busied  in  hanging  and 
drying  clothes  in  the  court-yard. 

Sometimes  he  would  have  willingly  gone  to  her  assistance  when 
a  piece  fell  from  the  line,  which  was  fastened  to  three  trees.  He 
abandoned  this  hypothesis,  when  he  observed  the  regular  return 
of  every  piece  belonging  to  the  wash  he  had  seen  the  week  be- 
fore. 

From  the  smoke  that  now  and  then  arose  from  a  wing  of  the 
house,  and  still  more  from  the  blue  linen,  and  cotton  clothes,  that 
sometimes  were  blowing  about  the  roof  of  the  house  itself,  the 
father  might  be  supposed  to  be  a  dyer.  This  conjecture  amount- 
ed to  certainty,  when  one  day  an  elderly  man,  with  rolled  up 
shirt  sleeves,  and  very  blue  hands,  stood  at  the  well  with  the  wa- 
ter-bearer. She  smiled  in  a  friendly  and  cordial  manner.  This 
sight  (the  smile,  not  the  blue  hands,)  charmed  our  astronomer  so 
much,  that  he  not  only  joined  in  the  laugh  from  his  observatory, 
but  must  needs  smile  the  whole  day. 

Ah  !  how  little  is  required  to  make  a  man  happy. 


Thus  a  year  passed  away  with  poor  Frock.  What  is  there  to 
relate  in  his  simple,  laborious,  yet  joyful  life  ?  The  same  story 
was  renewed  each  day.    He  was  contented — he  loved — he  once 


JONATHAN  FROCK. 


]35 


more  had  a  being  in  the  world  to  whom  he  was  joined.  But  the 
most  unaccountable  thing  was,  that,  from  a  singular  caprice,  he 
never  gave  himself  the  trouble  of  admiring  the  dyer's  daughter 
nearer  at  hand,  or,  indeed,  cared  to  attract  her  attention  to  him- 
self. 

She  could  not  dream  that  she  was,  every  day,  observed  and 
loved  through  a  telescope  ;  still  less  would  she  think  of  arming 
herself  with  one,  to  seek  out  the  man  in  the  observatory.  He, 
therefore,  remained  unknown  to  her,  and,  without  doubt,  so  he 
wished  to  be.  Jonathan  Frock  had  some  odd  notions.  He  had, 
perhaps,  found  by  experience,  that  some  beauties,  to  appear  love- 
ly, must  be  seen  only  at  a  certain  distance :  for  many  who  seem 
attractive  in  the  distance,  fail,  on  approaching  them,  to  make  our 
happiness. 

Even  the  moderate  happiness  which  Frock  now  enjoyed,  was 
not  of  long  continuance. 

Very  late  one  evening,  some  one  knocked  at  his  door,  and  a 
strange  but  polite  voice  was  heard,  urgently  demanding  admit- 
tance. Frock  arose,  dressed  himself,  and  opened  the  door.  A 
gentleman  entered,  in  a  gray  surtout,  with  a  sword  by  his  side ; 
behind  him  stood  an  armed  soldier. 

"  Are  you  Jonathan  Frock  V 

"  Certainly,"  answered  he,  very  much  astonished. 

"  It  grieves  me  to  be  obliged  to  inform  you,  that  you  are  ar- 
rested by  order  of  the  king's  secret  police,  and,  after  delivering 
up  all  your  effects,  must  follow  where  I  shall  lead  you." 

Frock  thought  he  could  scarce  have  heard  aright.  He  was 
conscious  of  committing  no  other  sin  in  his  retirement,  unless  he 
had  pursued  the  beautiful  dyer's  daughter  too  passionately  with 
his  telescope.  In  the  meantime,  neither  delay  nor  resistance 
would  be  of  any  avail.  Two  strong  policemen  entered  the  room, 
to  assist  in  packing  and  sealing  up  everything.  Frock,  undis- 
mayed, and  convinced  they  had  mistaken  him  for  some  other 
person,  dressed  himself  with  more  than  usual  care,  and,  with  the 
permission  of  the  guard,  put  in  his  pocket  his  little  store  of  money, 
and  his  telescope.  It  is  difficult  to  conceive  what  the  last  was  for. 
He  perhaps  hoped  to  be  put  in  a  tower  of  the  prison  commanding 
a  more  extensive  prospect,  and  from  which,  with  the  aid  of  his 


136 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


telescope,  he  would  find  his  heart's  delight,  his  companion  with 
golden  locks. 

In  the  middle  of  the  night,  he  accompanied  his  conductors  to 
the  place  of  destination.  It  was  a  long  high  building,  with  courts 
and  broad  cross-ways  in  all  directions.  A  strong,  heavily-bolted 
door  was  opened.  He  was  led  into  a  small  room,  furnished  with 
a  bed,  a  table,  and  a  wooden  stool.  They  wished  him  good-night, 
closed  and  bolted  the  door,  and  left  him  in  darkness.  His  many 
sorrowful  reflections  prevented  his  enjoying  much  repose  ;  toward 
morning,  however,  he  fell  into  a  sound,  sweet  sleep.  They  awa- 
kened him  very  late,  and  brought  him  a  breakfast  of  savoury, 
nourishing  soup.  Till  now,  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  making 
a  very  frugal  meal,  in  the  morning,  of  bread  and  water.  The 
great  cleanliness  of  his  new  apartment  pleased  him  ;  but  he  much 
disliked  the  view  from  the  grated  window,  which  consisted  only  of 
a  cold-looking,  narrow  court-yard,  surrounded  by  cloister-like 
buildings.  Far  away  were  the  suburbs,  the  dyeing-house,  and 
the  water-bearer.  He  could  have  wept ;  but  his  good  conscience 
comforted  him.  He  did  not  doubt  but  the  mistake  would  soon  be 
rectified,  that  had  placed  him  in  this  situation.  A  very  good  din- 
ner was  brought  to  him  of  bread,  meat  and  vegetables.  He  had  m 
not  lived  so  well  for  a  long  time  ;  and,  excepting  the  view  from 
the  window,  and  the  ennui,  he  fared  better  as  the  king's  prisoner, 
than  formerly  at  his  office. 

In  the  afternoon  he  was  led  to  examination,  and  placed  in  front 
of  a  table  hung  with  black,  at  which  sat  several  stern-looking 
gentlemen  of  the  upper  police.  After  having  informed  them- 
selves of  his  origin,  name,  age,  residence  and  profession,  they 
laid  before  him  a  small  publication,  and  asked  him  if  he  was  the 
author  of  it  ?  He  read  it ;  the  contents  were  not  unknown  to 
him,  yet  he  could  answer  immediately,  and  with  great  self-pos- 
session, that  he  was  not  the  author — for  he  had  never  had  any- 
thing printed  in  his  life.  When  put  upon  his  oath,  he  still  per- 
sisted in  the  same  assertion. 

The  examiner  now  drew  forth  several  written  sheets  of  paper, 
handed  them  to  the  prisoner,  and  asked :  "  Do  you  know  this 
hand-writing  ?"  Frock  recognized  it  immediately ;  it  was  his 
own.    It  was  the  same  paper  that  he  had  once  been  obliged 


JONATHAN  FROCK. 


137 


to  copy,  containing  a  political  negotiation  of  Rath  Von  Schwarz's. 
Without  consideration,  he  confessed  it  was  his  hand- writing;  he 
had  not  composed  the  article,  still  less  had  it  printed,  but  had 
copied  it  for  money,  when  it  was  brought  to  him  in  the  way  of 
business.  To  the  question,  who  had  brought  him  the  original  to 
copy  ?  he  answered,  a  stranger,  whose  figure  and  dress  he  might 
possibly  recognize,  but  whose  name  he  had  never  heard. 

The  examiners  shook  their  heads.  Frock  was  on  the  point  of 
confessing  that  the  original  was  the  work  of  Herr  Von  Schwarz. 
By  this  means,  he  would,  perhaps,  at  once  have  been  relieved 
from  all  responsibility.  Nor  had  he  any  reason  for  sparing  his 
former  tormentor,  till  he  remembered  his  beloved  pupils.  He  was 
sufficiently  noble-minded  not  to  wish  to  make  them  unhappy,  by 
destroying  their  father,  whose  conduct  appeared  by  this  negotia- 
tion to  be  very  reprehensible.  He  was  silent,  therefore,  and  was 
led  back  to  prison. 

He  was  again  taken  to  examination,  and  again  to  prison.  The 
suspicions  of  the  police  increased  with  regard  to  him  ;  it  was  sup- 
posed he  was  the  author,  or  was  well  acquainted  with  him ;  for, 
out  of  the  many  questions  put  to  him,  he  had  answered  some  of 
them  too  thoughtlessly,  and  so  had  contradicted  himself. 

He  had  already  been  in  prison  three  weeks,  when  the  guard 
once  more  appeared,  not  to  lead  him  to  examination,  but  to 
another  prison,  where,  in  place  of  his  light  room,  he  was  left  in  a 
dungeon.  It  illy  pleased  him  to  be  put  there,  on  bare  straw, 
bread  and  water,  and  in  a  dim  twilight.  Still  he  resolved  in  his 
heart  not  to  make  the  Rath  unhappy.  "  For,"  thought  he,  "  if  I 
abide  by  my  declaration,  what  can  they  do  to  me  ?  If  they  hope 
to  force  a  confession  from  me  by  means  of  straw  and  meagre  diet, 
the  gentlemen  are  mistaken.  I  shall  keep  to  my  word.  They 
must  finally  set  me  at  liberty ;  and  then  I  shall  have  spared  my 
darling  pupils  anxiety  and  bitter  tears." 


The  next  day  he  was  transferred  from  the  dungeon  to  an  asrree- 
able,  cheerful,  well-furnished  apartment;  the  grated  windows, 
the  locks  and  bolts  of  the  thick  door,  alone  reminded  him  that  he 
was  in  prison.    His  food  was  more  choice — he  was  even  furnish- 


138 


ZSCHOKKE  S  TALES. 


ed  with  wine.  Writing  materials  and  books  were  allowed  him. 
He  was  told  that  all  this  was  by  the  desire  of  a  noble  person,  who 
took  a  lively  interest  in  his  fate.  The  good  Frock  was  not  dissat- 
isfied with  this  sympathy,  though  he  said  it  did  him  too  much 
honour. 

He  considered  it  of  much  more  importance,  when,  being  taken 
before  a  commission  of  the  criminal  court,  he  perceived  Herr  Von 
Schwarz  among  his  judges. 

It  is  probable  that  the  Rath  supposed,  after  hearing  the  account 
of  Frock's  behaviour  before  the  police,  that  he  had  either  not  rec- 
ognized or  had  forgotten  his  hand- writing. 

Herr  Von  Schwarz  cast  a  malicious  glance  at  the  prisoner,  who 
now  entered,  and  seemed  anxious,  from  his  severe  cross-question- 
ing, to  make  Frock's  guilt  more  apparent.  The  accused  ob- 
served with  displeasure  the  insolence  of  the  man.  He  long 
restrained  his  anger.  But  when,  at  length,  Herr  Von  Schwarz 
let  fall  a  suspicious  word  about  the  gold  snuff-box,  he  was  no 
longer  master  of  himself. 

"  From  regard  to  my  former  pupils,  your  two  sons,  I  have  till 
now  been  silent ;  but  your  behaviour  forces  me  to  make  public 
what  no  direct  question  has  drawn  from  me.  It  is  true,  that  I  am 
not  the  author  of  that  negotiation,  which  contains  offences  against 
the  highest  court — perhaps  betrays  state  secrets.  It  is  true,  I 
neither  know  the  author,  nor  he  who  brought  it  to  me  to  be 
copied.  But  I  knew,  and  still  know  the  hand-writing  of  him 
who  wrote  the  original.  It  was  the  hand-writing  of  Herr  Von 
Schwarz." 

Schwarz  laughed  scornfully,  but  could  not  conceal  a  sudden 
confusion,  which  did  not  escape  his  companions  in  office.  In  the 
meantime  the  president  said  to  the  accused,  (now  become  the  ac- 
cuser,) that  he  had  brought  forward  an  accusation,  which  it 
would  be  difficult  to  prove. 

"  It  is  possible,"  returned  Frock,  "  that  the  original  may  have 
been  destroyed  so  soon  as  the  copy  came  into  their  possession. 
But  my  memorandum-book,  which,  with  my  other  papers,  is  in 
the  hands  of  the  police,  will  prove  that  I  very  well  know  Herr 
Von  Schwarz's  hand-writing.  I  remember,  that  in  addition  to 
entering  on  my  books  that  I  had  copied  a  negotiation  without  a 


JONATHAN  FROCK. 


139 


title,  I  noted  on  the  margin,  1  Hand-writing  of  H.  V.  S.,'  that  is, 
Herr  Von  Schwarz." 

On  a  sign  from  the  president,  an  officer  brought  out  a  box  con- 
taining Frock's  papers.  He  took  out  the  little  book,  looked  for 
the  dale,  found  the  place,  which  appeared  to  have  escaped  the  at- 
tention of  the  police,  and  laid  it  before  the  judge.  It  was  exactly 
as  Frock  had  said.    He  was  taken  back  to  prison. 

The  next  morning,  his  approaching  deliverance,  and  the  imme- 
diate imprisonment  of  Herr  Von  Schwarz,  were  announced.  For, 
through  the  agency  of  the  police,  from  the  description  Frock  had 
given  of  him,  the  man  who  had  brought  him  the  negotiation  to 
copy,  was  apprehended  in  a  distant  city,  and  brought  into  court. 
The  testimony  of  this  man  confirmed  that  of  the  innocent  Frock, 
when  they  were  confronted  and  recognized  each  other. 

The  same  day,  Frock  had  a  still  greater  surprise.  He  received 
a  visit  from  Major  Von  Tulpen,  accompanied  by  a  stranger.  The 
old  major  was  beside  himself  with  joy,  at  seeing  him  again.  He 
pressed  him  with  emotion  to  his  heart. 

"  There  is  good  to  be  found  in  everything,"  said  the  major. 
"  If  you  had  not  been  imprisoned,  we  never,  in  the  world,  would 
have  found  you.  But  your  trial  made  so  much  noise,  that  we 
learned  your  abode." 

"  You  do  not  recognize  me,  then,"  said  the  major's  companion. 

Frock  looked  at  him  earnestly,  then  bowed  respectfully,  and 
said  : 

"  Your  highness  shows  me  undeserved  honour." 

"  Not  such  undeserved  honour.  When  you  took  me  prisoner, 
in  a  skirmish  in  the  Netherlands,  if  you  had  not  protected  me  so 
courageously  from  your  comrades,  I  should  long  since  have  been 
in  the  kingdom  of  the  dead.  You  saved  my  life  ;  and  in  my  de- 
fence received  that  wound  on  the  forehead,  from  the  foolish  chas- 
seur, who  wished  to  cut  me  down  at  all  events." 

"  But  how  could  your  highness  know  my  name  ?  for  I  never 
told  it  to  you." 

"  I  learned  it  of  the  major.  I  became  acquainted  with  the 
major  through  the  jeweller,  to  whom  you  sold  the  gold  snuff-box, 
that  I  gave  you  as  a  token  of  my  remembrance,  on  the  field  of 
battle.    During  my  stay  here,  I  wished  to  buy  several  things 


140 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


from  the  jeweller,  and  I  was  much  surprised  to  meet  with  my 
snuff-box.  You  have  sold  it  from  so  noble  a  motive,  that  I  must 
indeed  return  it  to  you,  to  do  honour  to  your  virtue." 

The  prince  laid  the  box  upon  the  table  j  and  Frock  now  learn- 
ed that  he  had  been  formally  acquitted  by  the  court. 

"Now,  friend  Jonathan  Schopf,"  cried  the  major,  "we  must 
gee  each  other  oftener.  You  will  find  the  name  of  my  place  of 
residence  upon  this  card,  and  you  must  visit  me  as  soon  as  you 
are  at  liberty.  I  thought  you  were  lost  for  ever.  May  that  Rath 
— what  d'ye  call  him  ? — who  is  here  now  in  place  of  you,  go  to 
the  devil !  He  has  got  himself  into  a  bad  box.  He  wished  to 
trick  the  ministers  of  justice,  and  so  drew  attention  upon  himself. 
It  serves  him  right." 

Frock  was  much  comforted  by  this  visit.  It  renewed  his  con- 
fidence  in  mankind ;  and  he  looked  upon  the  past  dangers  and 
sufferings  of  his  imprisonment,  as  a  trifling  price  he  had  paid  for 
the  pleasure  of  this  day. 

Early  the  next  morning,  he  was  in  all  due  form,  and  with  an 
ample  apology  and  declaration  of  innocence,  released  from  prison. 
The  court  also  adjudged  to  him  a  handsome  sum,  partly  as  in- 
demnification for  his  suffering,  partly  as  a  compensation  for  the 
interruption  of  his  business,  during  the  time  of  his  imprisonment. 
It  was  a  long  time  since  Frock  had  been  so  rich.  The  snuff-box 
of  the  prince  (who  had  the  same  day  left  the  residence)  was  also 
filled  with  gold  pieces. 


When  Frock  once  more  entered  his  little  room  at  the  old 
widow's,  he  could  have  wept  for  joy,  and  wished  to  kiss  the  tables 
and  chairs,  as  old  friends  re-found.  But  his  first  proceeding  was 
to  go  to  the  window  with  his  telescope.  He  looked  with  delight 
at  the  three  trees,  and  at  the  lines  upon  which  the  clothes  were 
blowing,  like  colours  and  banners  hung  out  by  Love  to  greet 
him  ;  but,  alas  !  the  dyer's  lovely  daughter,  with  her  Berenice- 
like curls,  did  not  come  to  welcome  him. 

Upon  the  whole,  Frock  was  a  singular  person.  With  a  heart 
full  of  virtue,  and  in  consequence  capable  of  feeling  the  tender- 
est  friendship,  he  remained  estranged  from  men,  and  preferred 


Hi 


perspective  views,  clothes-lines,  tables  and  chairs,  to  their  society. 
He  certainly  had  his  reasons,  which  we  must  respect  in  silence. 
The  good-will  and  gratitude  of  the  prince  affected  him  very 
much  ;  yet  it  never  occurred  to  him  to  draw  a  straw's  breadth 
nearer  him.  The  prince  had  even  invited  him  to  visit  him, 
promising  him  a  situation  in  his  school  establishment ;  and  Frock, 
who  was  without  a  maintenance,  had  merely  bowed  and  silently 
refused  it.  The  old  Major  Von  Tulpen  had  begged  him,  in  a  very 
cordial  manner,  to  become  intimate  at  his  house  j  but  Frock  had 
never  been  there.  And  yet  he  was  far  from  being  shy,  nor  was  it 
Jjusiness  that  kept  him  at  home  ;  for  though,  immediately  on  his 
release  from  prison,  he  had  hung  his  sign  on  the  outside  of  the 
widow's  door,  no  one  came  to  require  his  services  in  writing. 

At  last,  one  evening,  the  major  himself  appeared,  and  said  : 

"I  might  have  waited  till  the  day  of  judgment,  Jonathan  Rok, 
or  Farrok,  before  you  came  to  see  me  !  You  must  now  come 
with  me,  that  you  may  know  how  to  find  my  house.  To-day  is 
my  birth-day.  My  cellar  is  full  of  Pontac,  Burgundy,  and 
Champagne,  with  which  the  Prince  of — what  d'ye  call  him  ? — has 
enriched  me,  merely  for  taking  him  to  the  jeweller's  and  to  you, 
and  for  the  story  about  the  snuff-box,  which  I  have  told  often 
enough  without  having  been  paid  for  it." 

Frock  could  not  resist.  They  got  into  a  hackney-coach,  as  it 
was  very  dark,  and  drove  off.  The  major  was  excessively  gay 
and  talkative.  But  just  as  they  reached  the  house,  he  began  to 
swear,  and  exclaimed  : 

"  What  a  stupid  fellow  !  I  have  passed  the  recorder's  office, 
though  I  told  him  I  should  stop  to  take  him  home  to  supper.  He 
is  an  excellent  young  man ;  it  will  please  you,  Jonathan,  to  be- 
come acquainted  with  him.  I  will  set  you  down  first,  and  then 
turn  back  for  him." 

The  carriage  stopped.  Frock  was  obliged  to  jump  out  and  go 
into  the  house.  "  The  room  on  the  right,"  cried  the  major,  and 
drove  off. 

Frock  groped  his  way  through  the  hall,  in  the  dark  ;  found  the 
door,  knocked,  was  told  to  come  in  ;  saw  a  table  set  out,  bright 
candles  were  burning  on  it,  and  at  the  same  moment  his  eyes  be- 


142 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


came  blinded,  for  the  well-known  dyer's  daughter  stood  living 
before  him. 

"  I  fear  I  have  made  a  mistake,"  stammered  he ;  "  I  thought 
this  was  Major  Von  Tulpen's." 

"  This  is  the  right  place ;  my  father  will  soon  be  here,  if  you 
can  wait  a  short  time,"  said  she,  and  offered  him  a  chair. 

A  young  girl,  about  ten  years  old,  came  forward,  and  after 
looking  at  the  stranger  for  a  moment,  said  timidly,  and  with  a 
pleasant  smile : 

"  Am  I  not  right  ?  Are  you  not  the  gentleman  who  gave  away 
a  gold  snuff-box  for  my  father?"  fc 

"  Not  gave  away,  for  I  have  it  again,"  said  Frock,  who  had 
not  recovered  from  his  first  surprise. 

He  became  still  more  embarrassed,  when  the  golden-haired  one 
laid  her  beautiful  hand  on  his  arm  and  said  : 

"  Ah !  how  much  we  are  indebted  to  you.  The  snuff-box 
must  have  become  a  holy  thing  to  you,  since  it  reminds  you  of 
two  men  whom  you  have  saved." 

"Did  you  grow  so  pale  in  prison  ?"  asked  the  little  girl,  look- 
ing at  him  compassionately.  "  I  have  prayed  for  you  very  often, 
and  that  must  have  done  you  good." 

Frock  found  that  he  was  much  better  known  here  than  he  had 
supposed ;  and  to  turn  the  conversation  from  the  subject  of  grati- 
tude, he  related  the  pleasures  of  his  prison  life. 

Both  the  sisters  thought  it  surprising,  that  he  should  have  en- 
dured the  loss  of  his  freedom  so  quietly,  and  even  have  found 
something  agreeable  in  his  imprisonment. 

"  I  should  fret  myself  to  death  if  I  were  in  prison,"  said  the 
little  girl,  "  and  were  obliged  to  live  by  myself,  away  from  Jose- 
phine and  my  father." 

"I  can  easily  believe  that"  said  Frock;  "  but  if  one  has  no 
Josephine  and  no  father  to  fret  after,  then,  with  a  pure  heart,  one 
is  well  everywhere.  To  a  man  who,  in  time  of  need,  is  sufficient 
for  himself,  the  smallest  room  is  a  great  world  ;  and  he  who  is 
not  sufficient  for  himself,  but  depends  upon  society  for  his  happi- 
ness, even  in  the  greatest  extent  of  the  universe,  lives  immured 
in  a  dungeon." 


JONATHAN  FROCK. 


143 


"But  to  be  alone  the  livelong  day!"  answered  the  little  girl 
with  a  sigh. 

"  How  do  you  know  that  I  was  alone  ?  Was  not  my  whole 
past  life  before  me  ?  And  was  not  He  with  me,  who  is  more 
than  all  society  ?    Do  you  know  who  ?    God  !" 

The  conversation  now  took  a  more  serious  turn ;  Josephine, 
leaning  on  the  back  of  a  chair,  listened  in  silence. 

Her  little  sister  Leonore  had  always  a  hundred  questions  to 
ask,  and  a  hundred  replies  to  make. 

The  major  now  came  in,  and  with  him  a  very  handsome  young 
man,  the  Recorder  Bukhardt.  He  appeared  very  much  at  home 
in  the  family,  and  intimate  with  the  young  ladies. 

Frock,  before  this,  had  made  much  progress  in  their  acquaint- 
ance, but  the  more  at  ease  Bukhardt  appeared,  the  more  reserved 
Frock  became.  The  major  presented  the  "  worthy"  recorder  to 
him,  and  the  conversation  became  more  general.  The  major's 
daughters  now  left  the  room  to  bring  in  the  simple  supper.  They 
sat  down.  The  recorder  placed  himself  next  to  Josephine,  and 
paid  her  the  greatest  attention.  Frock  was  opposite  to  them,  be- 
side the  chattering  little  Leonore,  and  in  the  disposing  of  his 
hands  and  feet,  sometimes  even  of  his  eyes,  seemed  much  em- 
barrassed. The  golden-haired  Josephine  was,  indeed,  (as  she 
sat  shaded  from  the  light,  and  when  she  now  and  then  bent  for- 
ward her  lovely  head,)  surprisingly  beautiful.  The  surprise, 
certainly,  was  only  on  Frock's  side,  for  neither  the  major  nor 
Leonore  appeared  to  look  upon  it  as  anything  wonderful :  per- 
haps the  "  worthy"  recorder  did. 

Fortunately,  the  major  passed  round  the  Burgundy,  and  shortly 
after  the  sparkling  Champagne.  This  excited  our  pale  philoso- 
pher, till  he  was  in  the  same  state  of  innocent  gayety  that  the 
others  were.  He  now  became  talkative  and  agreeable.  The 
lively  chatterer,  Leonore,  busied  herself  in  kind  attentions  to  him. 
She  listened  eagerly  to  whatever  he  chose  to  say,  and  when  he 
corrected  her  in  some  fault  of  arithmetic,  she  seized  the  opportu- 
nity of  begging  him  to  become  her  instructor.  She  promised,  out 
of  pure  gratitude,  to  replace  the  loss  of  his  former  pupils,  in  the 
Schwarzischen  house,  of  whom  he  had  spoken  with  so  much 
affection. 


144 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


"  For,"  said  she,  "  they  were  boys,  who  forget  one  immediate- 
ly, and  are  so  wild  and  volatile." 

Frock  allowed  himself  to  be  drawn  into  a  promise,  to  devote 
two  hours  to  her  every  Sunday  and  Wednesday.  The  major 
shook  his  hand  warmly. 

"  You  are  doing  me  a  great  favour,"  said  lie.  "  I  have  nothing, 
or  I  should  certainly  have  sent  her  to  school.  The  vain  little 
boaster  must  sit  still  and  learn." 

Frock  did  not  know  what  a  charge  he  had  undertaken.  He 
repented  it  the  day  following,  however,  and  still  more  the  promise 
he  had  given  to  dine  that  day  (it  was  Sunday)  with  the  Tulpen- 
schen  family. 


As  he  did  not  return  home  till  very  late,  he  slept  long.  The 
ringing  of  the  church  bells  from  all  the  steeples,  far  and  near,  at 
last  awakened  him.  While  dressing  himself,  he  thought  over 
the  preceding  day  ;  then  his  first  step  was  to  the  telescope  and  the 
window.  But  as  he  was  raising  the  telescope  to  his  eye,  he  laid 
it  quickly  down,  shut  the  window,  and  did  not  look  out  again  the 
whole  morning,  but  walked  up  and  down  his  room,  singing  and 
whistling.  About  noon,  he  wrote  the  major  a  note,  telling  him 
that  it  would  be  impossible  for  him  to  dine  with  him,  as  he  was 
not  well,  sealed  it,  and  then  remembered,  as  he  had  no  messen- 
ger, he  would  be  obliged  to  take  it  himself.  Then  it  was  very 
late,  and  would  be  impolite  to  keep  them  waiting.  He  tore  up 
the  note,  and  went  to  the  major's,  repenting  at  every  step  what 
he  was  doing,  and  what  he  had  already  done. 

They  received  him  in  the  same  kind,  unconstrained  manner, 
and  he  felt  himself  much  more  at  ease  with  these  friendly  people 
than  he  had  the  day  before.  They  all  seemed  very  serious,  not 
excepting  the  little  Leonore. 

The  good  people  had  just  come  from  church,  and  the  worship 
of  God  had  left  in  their  souls  a  gentle  gravity  which  tempered, 
and  even  ennobled,  their  usual  cheerfulness. 

"  Have  you  been  to  church  1"  asked  Leonore. 

"  Not  to-day,"  answered  Frock. 

"  If  I  do  not  go  to  church  on  Sunday,  the  whole  week  seems 


JONATHAN  FROCK. 


145 


dull  and  uninteresting.  Sunday,  among  all  other  days,  is  like 
the  sun,  which  gives  light  to  the  rest.  I  can  easily  understand 
how  men  commit  great  crimes,  where  they  have  no  Sundays." 

"  But  do  you  not  think,  there  may  be  good  men  who  have  no 
Sunday  ?" 

"  Yes,  there  may  be  some ;  but  their  existence  is  very  tame, 
and  they  can  have  nothing  to  comfort  them.  Their  sense  teaches 
them  to  be  good,  but  it  does  not  proceed  from  the  most  beautiful" 

"  What  do  you  call  the  most  beautiful  ?" 

£  Why,  the  most  beautiful  is — the  most  beautiful.  You  know 
better  than  1  do.  It  is  the  most  beautiful  when  in  church  1  listen 
and  pray,  and  am  at  peace  with  God,  and  think  of  all  that  is 
without  and  within.  It  passes  away  ;  and  I  know  besides,  that 
the  Best  remains  in  imperishably  great  majesty.  All  the  beloved 
dead  are  once  more  around  me — my  mother,  my  grandfather, 
and  the  many  heroes  my  father  talks  about.  Jesus  Christ,  and 
many  holy  souls  live  more  blessedly  than  I,  and  yet  live  with  me, 
and  love  me  as  I  love  them.  That  is  the  most  beautiful.  Then 
I  hear  the  whispering  of  praying  hearts,  and  the  holy  organ's 
sound,  and  the  voice  of  the  preacher,  and  yet  do  not  hear  it;  still 
everything  speaks  within  me,  and  I  understand,  though  I  can  see 
nothing." 

Frock  smiled.  He  gazed  on  Leonore's  expressive  countenance, 
who  spoke  with  great  enthusiasm.  Then  he  bent  over  the  young 
girl  and  kissed  her  beautiful  forehead,  without  saying  a  word. 

"  The  little  girl  prattles  like  a  starling  !"  cried  the  major  ; 
"  she  often  chatters  of  things  by  heart,  which  I  feel,  and  yet  can 
never  express." 

After  dinner  a  walk  was  proposed.  They  went  to  the  Lilien- 
thal,  a  neighbouring  wood  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  walk  from 
the  suburbs.  In  the  middle  of  the  wood,  between  meadows  and 
gardens,  was  an  inn,  to  which  the  inhabitants  of  the  city  resorted 
to  amuse  themselves.  Frock  gave  an  arm  to  each  of  the  sisters, 
and  the  major  went  chattering  by  their  side.  Josephine  displayed 
quite  as  much  spirit  and  feeling  in  her  conversation,  as  she  was 
beautiful. 

"  It  is  indeed  a  magnificent  day !"  cried  Leonore,  hopping 
about  with  joy ;  "I  am  really  in  heaven  to-day  !    I  am  in 
PART  II.  11 


146 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


heaven  ;  and  if  you  had  been  to  church,  you  would  be  in  heaven; 
too,  Herr  Frock !" 

"  But  if  I  were  to  tell  you,  good  Leonore,  that  I  am  really  in 
heaven,  at  this  moment." 

"No;  you  are  only  walking;  but  I  am  in  heaven.  Do  you 
not  see,  that  all  the  -flowers  are  more  gayly  coloured,  and  look 
quiet  and  heavenly  ;  and  the  foliage  on  the  trees  is  transparent, 
as  if  it  were  a  green  flame,  and  the  sky  has  another  dress,  and 
the  sun  another  brightness.  Everything  has  a  different  air,  and 
denotes  something  festive ;  I  do  not  entirely  comprehend  it,  but  I 
shall  certainly  know  how  to  study  it." 

Frock  was  in  heaven,  in  spite  of  what  Leonore  might  say  to 
the  contrary.  The  whole  world  looked  brighter  to  him  with 
Josephine  on  his  arm.  He  gladly  listened  to  Leonore's  talking, 
that  he  might  be  silent.  For  speaking  was  a  burden,  because  he 
was  oppressed  with  feelings  which  he  could  not  explain  to  himself. 

Several  acquaintances  of  the  major's  were  in  Lilienthal,  and 
some  of  Josephine's  and  Leonore's,  who  attached  themselves  to 
the  party.  Frock,  as  a  stranger,  drew  back.  He  went  in  search 
of  plants  among  the  bushes.  After  about  an  hour  the  major  ob- 
served his  absence ;  they  waited  for  him,  talking  one  to  another. 
When  it  was  time  to  break  up  and  think  of  going  home,  Frock 
had  not  yet  returned.  Leonore  ran  away  into  the  wood  to  seek 
him.  The  major  swore,  and  took  another  path  for  the  same  pur- 
pose. Josephine  remembered  the  direction  Frock  had  taken 
through  the  bushes,  and  followed  that,  and  it  was  she  who  found 
him,  lying  on  the  grass  under  an  oak,  with  his  face  hidden  in  his 
folded  hands.  She  thought  he  was  asleep,  and  called  his  name 
in  a  low  voice.  He  instantly  jumped  up,  his  face  agitated,  and 
deadly  pale  ;  stared  at  her  for  a  moment,  then  forcing  a  polite 
smile,  begged  pardon  for  having  left  the  company,  and  was  much 
surprised,  when  he  heard  it  was  time  to  return  home.  He 
accompanied  her,  silent  and  embarrassed. 

"  You  look  very  badly,"  said  Josephine ;  "  perhaps  you  are 
not  well  ?" 

"  It  is  nothing,"  said  he,  "  I  feel  much  stronger  now." 

The  others  came  up,  and  were  frightened  at  his  appearance. 

"  What  has  happened  to  you,  friend  Jonathan  ?"  asked  Major 


JONATHAN  FROCK. 


14? 


Van  Tulpen,  in  a  faint  voice.  "  You  have  cried  your  eyes  red, 
and  now  they  look  glassy." 

Frock  smiled,  passed  his  hand  over  his  face,  and  said : 

"  Thoughts  sometimes  come  over  me  !" 

No  one  urged  him  further.  Neither  did  any  one  question  him, 
when  the  next  day,  in  the  middle  of  the  conversation,  he  was  si- 
lent, or  was  sad  in  the  midst  of  general  gayety,  or  coloured  at  in- 
different words.  Every  one  respected  his  secret.  Even  in  the 
Tulpenschen  family,  it  was  long  before  they  talked  on  the  sub- 
ject  in  his  absence. 

Frock  came  regularly,  on  Sundays  and  Wednesdays,  to  teach 
Leonore.  He  did  not  only  teach  her  figures  ;  he  related  the  prin- 
cipal events  in  the  history  of  the  world,  and  explained  many  phe- 
nomena of  nature.  He  spoke  with  great  clearness  and  precision, 
but  never  with  greater  warmth  than  when  he  made  a  transition 
from  the  earthly  to  the  spiritual,  and  lost  himself  in  religious 
thoughts.  This  often  happened  ;  he  seemed  to  heed  it.  Jose- 
phine always  contrived  to  have  her  out  of  door  work  finished  when 
Frock  came.  Then  she  took  her  knitting,  and  sat  down  in  her 
corner  by  the  window.  Frock,  who  had  at  first  appeared  to  her 
as  an  estimable  man,  on  account  of  what  he  had  done  for  her 
father,  now,  by  the  charm  of  his  conversation,  and  the  elevation 
of  his  sentiments,  caused  her  to  forget  the  faults  of  his  appearance  ; 
that  is,  his  pale  face  and  curling  black  hair.  She  felt  very  kind- 
ly toward  him,  and  a  hearty  compassion  when,  without  apparent 
cause,  he  was  sad. 

"  He  conceals  a  great  sorrow  within  his  bosom,"  said  Josephine 
often  to  Leonore,  who  had  asked  her  about  it.  "  Respect  his  se- 
cret, he  was  looked  upon  as  a  penitent  criminal  in  the  Schwarz- 
ischen  house,  but  I  believe  his  sorrow  proceeds  from  a  noble 
cause." 


Herr  Von  Tulpen  and  his  daughters  lived  in  a  very  simple  and 
retired  manner,  in  a  small  house  in  the  suburbs.  Josephine,  as- 
sisted by  her  younger  sister,  took  charge  of  the  little  household  ; 
and,  indeed,  made  something  out  of  nothing.  She  was  the  cook, 
the  gardener,  the  washerwoman,  the  tailoress  of  the  house,  all  ir 


148 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


all.  The  major,  her  father,  had  few  wants,  but  he  knew  not  how 
to  take  care  of  money.  He,  therefore,  resigned  his  narrow  in- 
come to  Josephine,  who  knew  how  to  meet  everything  with  it. 
She  was  a  complete  mistress  of  housekeeping,  and  under  her 
management,  there  was  neither  superfluity  nor  want.  There 
was  no  extravagance  in  the  house,  but  neatness,  taste,  and  clean- 
liness reigned.  She,  and  her  sister,  dressed  very  plainly,  but  she 
well  knew  what  colour,  and  fashion,  and  what  sort  of  ornaments 
became  her ;  therefore,  the  major  was  thought  much  richer  than 
he  was.  Josephine  had  many  admirers  in  the  city,  and  many 
suitors  among  the  nobility.  She  was  like  a  fresh,  blooming  lily, 
at  once  dignified  and  humble,  and  at  eighteen  years  of  age  united 
the  good  qualities  of  the  mother  of  a  family,  and  the  savoirfaire 
of  a  woman  of  the  world,  to  that  innocence  which  is  peculiar  to 
childhood.  Taking  charge  of  the  house  early  in  life,  had  given 
her  a  certain  independence  of  character,  which  she  could  not  con- 
ceal, and  which  inspired  all  who  approached  her  with  involuntary 
respect. 

A  young  count,  of  one  of  the  most  illustrious  families  of  the 
kingdom,  had  already  sought  her  hand.  Since  then,  the  Recor- 
der Bukhardt  had  become  a  friend  of  her  father's,  and  often 
came  to  the  house.  He  loved  Josephine  passionately,  but  was 
careful  not  to  awaken  any  suspicions  in  her  mind.  She  treated 
him  with  a  want  of  constraint,  which  let  him  understand  that, 
though  his  friendship  was  prized,  he  would  not  be  allowed  to  ap- 
proach a  step  nearer  to  a  greater  intimacy. 

Bukhardt  and  Frock  often  met  in  this  house.  The  former  not 
without  a  feeling  of  vanity,  (for  he  was  certainly  a  very  hand- 
some man,)  patiently  endured  these  frequent  meetings  with  the 
moodish,  timid  Frock  ;  who,  after  a  lapse  of  more  than  half  a  year, 
was  as  retiring  and  as  little  at  home  as  he  had  been  the  first  day. 
But  Frock  did  not  seem  to  be  less  esteemed  than  the  handsome 
Bukhardt.  Josephine  treated  him  with  as  much  kindness  as  the 
other,  even  (one  might  say)  with  that  tenderness  which  compas- 
sion toward  a  sufferer,  may  be  supposed  to  dictate.  Leonore,  too, 
once  remarked  to  her  sister:  ;£  Bukhardt  is  handsome;  Frock, 
with  his  moonlight  face,  is  not  at  all  so ;  but,  Josephine,  when 
Frock  speaks,  there  is  something  more  beautiful  in  his  eyes  than 


JONATHAN  FROCK. 


149 


Bukhardt  has.  There  is  something  very  lovely  in  Frock's  eyes, 
in  his  smile,  in  his  seriousness;  I  cannot  describe  it.  Bukhardt's 
beauty  appears  to  me  like  splendid  levantine,  not  transparent ; 
Frock's  appearance  is  like  thin  gauze,  through  which  shines 
something  glorious  that  I  love  and  cannot  explain." 

About  half  a  year  after  this,  Bukhardt  was  called  to  the  chan- 
cellorship, with  a  considerable  salary.  There  was  great  rejoic- 
ing in  the  Tulpenschen  family  ;  still  greater,  when  one  day  he 
brought  them  the  news,  that  through  his  recommendation  and  in- 
fluence, he  had  been  enabled  to  gain  the  majority  of  votes,  and 
even  the  approbation  of  the  minister,  in  favour  of  bestowing  the 
recorder's  place  on  the  good  Frock.  Provided  for  during  his  life- 
time, Frock  now  could  live  more  happily.  He  had  only  to  pre- 
sent himself  to  the  minister,  and  to  the  other  judges,  who,  from 
Bukhardt's  representations,  looked  upon  him  as  the  man,  from  ac- 
quirements, talent  and  honesty,  best  fitted  for  the  situation.  The 
major  was  moved  to  tears  at  the  joy  of  beholding  his  dear  Jona- 
than taken  care  of,  and  invested  with  an  office.  He  fell  on  the 
chancellor's  neck,  and  said  :  "  Thank  you,  dear  friend  !  If  1 
had  become  governor  of  the  city,  it  would  not  have  delighted  me 
so  much."  Both  the  young  girls,  too,  in  the  fulness  of  their 
hearts,  could  have  embraced  the  good  chancellor. 

It  was  Wednesday,  and  Bukhardt  well  knew  that  Frock  would 
come  on  that  day.  They  were  just  consulting  in  what  way  they 
should  most  agreeably  surprise  him  with  the  news,  when  he  came 
in  to  teach  Leonore.  They  all  gayly  surrounded  him  ;  every 
one  announced  the  news  to  him,  every  one  wished  him  joy.  Grat- 
itude and  astonishment  were  depicted  on  his  countenance  ;  he 
thanked  the  chancellor  for  his  kindness,  the  others  for  their  inter- 
est ;  and  in  the  midst  of  the  joy  which  beamed  from  his  counte- 
nance, a  melancholy  expression  stole  over  it.  He  declared  he 
could  not  accept  the  office,  from  want  of  the  requisite  knowledge 
and  capability;  and  when  this  was  contradicted,  by  every  one, 
he  said  he  felt  no  inward  inclination  for  such  employment.  They 
now  brought  forward  such  powerful  arguments  in  the  uncertainty 
of  his  profession,  that  nothing  now  remained  for  him  to  do,  but  to 
shrug  his  shoulders,  and  say  :  "  He  could  not  sue  for  the  office — 
more  important  reasons,  which  he  could  not  give,  prevented  him." 


150 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


None  asked  further,  and  a  sorrowful  silence  ensued.  Frock 
continued  Leonore's  lesson  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  The 
chancellor  took  his  leave.  The  major  threw  himself  into  an  arm- 
chair, to  smoke  his  pipe.  Josephine  took  her  seat  at  the  window, 
sewing  and  listening. 

The  subject  was  not  again  mentioned  ;  but  from  that  day  they 
drew  more  closely  to  the  mysterious  sufferer,  who,  without  means 
or  a  livelihood,  rejected  a  profitable  situation,  and  passed  his  life 
in  a  business  which  he  often  said  was  as  tedious  and  laborious  to 
him  as  splitting  wood.  They  endeavoured,  by  showing  a  more 
tender  interest,  to  make  up  to  him  for  the  secret  sorrow  which 
was  tormenting  him.  Even  the  reserved  Josephine  approached 
him  in  a  sisterly  manner;  but  he  remained  always  the  same,  as 
kind  and  distant  toward  the  beautiful  young  girl  as  toward  the 
major. 

It  was  different  with  Bukhardt.  He  had  opportunity  enough 
to  perceive,  from  a  thousand  trifles,  that  all  were  more  attached  to 
the  silent  Frock  than  to  him  ;  but  now,  inspired  by  more  daring 
hopes,  from  his  position  and  rich  salary,  and  trusting  to  the  pov- 
erty of  the  major,  he  resolved  to  ask  for  Josephine's  hand.  He 
first  spoke  to  the  major,  who  listened  to  him  with  delight. 

"  Very  good.  I  give  you  my  word  of  honour,  if  the  girl  is 
willing,  you  shall  have  her.  You  are  a  worthy  man,  that  I  al- 
ways say.  Begin  cautiously  with  Josephine — she  has  her  pecu- 
liarities. If  you  can  win  her  heart,  you  have  gained  every- 
thing ;  but  to  offer  yourself  now,  would  be  to  spoil  all.  I  will 
say  nothing  to  her  of  what  you  have  confided  to  me." 

Bukhardt  now  ventured  to  pay  the  maiden  greater  attention ; 
but  for  some  time  past,  Josephine  had  been  colder  in  her  manner 
toward  him  than  formerly.  It  was  not  to  be  accounted  for.  Buk- 
hardt complained  of  it  to  the  major,  who  for  a  moment  seemed 
embarrassed  ;  then  took  him  by  the  hand,  and  led  him  (for  the 
conversation  had  taken  place  in  the  garden  behind  the  house,)  to 
his  daughter's  room,  and  said  : 

"  Josephine,  I  have  not  said  a  word  to  the  chancellor,  but  do 
you  tell  him  yourself.  If  he  has  done  it,  he  has  not  meant  it  ill ; 
so  you  must  not  feel  anything  against  him.  Take  him  to  the 
wardrobe,  and  put  an  end  to  the  thing." 


JONATHAN  FROCK. 


151 


The  girl  coloured  very  much,  and  did  not  seem  pleased  with 
her  father's  request;  but  she  obeyed.  She  went  with  the  chan- 
cellor into  the  next  room,  threw  open  a  wardrobe,  and  said, 
after  showing  him  several  pieces  of  linen,  of  India  muslin,  and  of 
satin,  and  a  letter  directed  to  her  father,  inclosing  thirty  Louis  d'or: 

"  I  must  beg  you  to  take  back  these  presents,  which  you  have 
sent  each  of  us  on  our  birth-days,  through  the  post-office.  I 
honour  the  delicacy  which  led  you  to  send  them  anonymously, 
and  the  friendship  which  prompted  your  sending  such  valuable 
presents.  We  do  not  wish,  however,  to  accept  them,  as  it  is  not 
in  our  power  to  make  any  return." 

Bukhardt  looked  with  astonishment  at  the  precious  contents  of 
the  wardrobe,  as  he  listened  to  Josephine's  words. 

"  I  assure  you,  my  dear  mistress,"  said  he  at  length,  "  upon 
the  word  of  an  honest  man,  that  I  know  nothing  about  it.  I  have 
had  nothing  to  do  with  it.    You  suspect  me  without  reason." 

"  Herr  Chancellor,"  answered  Josephine,  regarding  him  with  a 
grave  and  sorrowful  expression  and  blushing  cheeks,  "  I  can  look 
upon  you  as  our  friend,  but  not  as  our  benefactor.  I  implore  you, 
if  you  wish  to  preserve  the  same  intimacy  with  us,  take  the  things 
back.  Nothing  has  been  disturbed,  or  will  ever  be  touched  by 
us.  No  one  else  but  you  could  have  sent  them  ;  for  no  one  but 
you  knew  our  birth-days,  and  the  time  when  my  father  was  dis- 
tressed for  want  of  money." 

Bukhardt  again  denied  it,  with  even  more  earnestness.  Jose- 
phine was  much  puzzled,  but  she  was  convinced  there  was 
nothing  else  for  him  to  say.  They  left  the  room,  and  the  girl's 
manner  remained  the  same. 

Josephine  had  guessed,  that  if  it  were  not  the  chancellor,  that 
her  admirer,  the  count,  had  perhaps  hoped  to  ingratiate  himself 
by  sending  the  presents.  Frock  was  not  suspected  until  Buk- 
hardt had  cleared  himself ;  then  she  began  to  think  that,  perhaps, 
Frock  might  be  the  donor.  She  observed  him  closely,  and  one 
day,  when  he  had  finished  Leonore's  lesson,  he  was  obliged  to 
follow  Josephine  into  the  next  room. 

Opening  the  door  of  the  wardrobe,  she  displayed  the  contents, 
and  said  :  "  For  some  months  past,  Herr  Frock,  presents  have 
come  to  my  father,  for  him,  and  for  us,  his  children,  we  know  not 


152 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


from  whom.  They  remain  untouched.  I  suspected  the  chancel- 
lor ;  he  denies  it.  I  should  be  sorry  to  offend  the  excellent  man 
without  a  cause.  Pray,  assist  me  in  discovering  who  sent  them, 
and  will  force  himself  upon  us  as  our  benefactor." 

Frock  changed  colour  and  stood  with  downcast  eyes  beside  her. 

"  You  speak  rather  severely,  my  dear  lady.  How  do  you 
know  whether  he  who  sent  these  things,  wished  to  be  looked  upon 
as  the  defrayer  of  a  debt,  or  as  a  benefactor  ?  If  he  be  a  debtor, 
I  do  not  know  why  you  refuse  to  accept  the  payment.  You 
have  the  right  to  be  too  proud  to  accept  either  charity  or  favours." 

"  Dear  Frock,"  said  Josephine,  and  looked  at  him  with  a 
searching  glance,  r<  was  it  really  you  ?   Tell  me  honestly  " 

"  Condemn  me,  Miss.  Yes,  it  was  I.  I  have  been  much  to 
blame,  that  I  set  out  so  awkwardly,  and  troubled  you  with  trifles 
that  I  might  spare  myself  embarrassment.  Will  you  now  return 
everything  ?"  asked  he,  in  a  low,  imploring  tone  of  voice. 

"  No  !  now  I  will  keep  everything — everything  !"  said  Jose- 
phine, smiling  through  her  tears,  and  pressing  both  hands  in  grate- 
ful acknowledgment  upon  his  arm. 

"  It  can  give  you  no  pleasure  to  be  our  benefactor  ;  you  are 
our  friend.  Is  it  not  so  ?  But  promise  to  make  us  no  more 
presents  like  these.    You  are  too  extravagant." 

When  they  returned  to  the  room,  Leonore  observed,  with  sur- 
prise, that  her  sister  had  been  weeping.  At  the  same  moment, 
the  major  came  in. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?"  he  asked  astonished. 

Josephine  kissed  her  father,  and  said  : 

"  Let  us  thank  the  good  Frock  ;  he  has  presented  us  with  the 
costly  things  in  the  wardrobe.  We  will  now  wear  them  in 
honour  of  our  friend." 

"  Oh  !  my  dear,  dear  Herr  Frock  !"  said  Leonore,  delighted 
and  overwhelming  him  with  caresses,  "  the  India  muslin  on  my 
birth-day  was  entirely  too  beautiful !" 


After  this  explanation,  the  old  footing  was  re-established  be- 
tween the  maiden  and  Bukhardt.  Josephine  was  even  kinder 
than  before,  as  she  felt  she  had  done  him  injustice.  Though 


JONATHAN  FROCK. 


153 


Bukhardt  felt  happy  at  this  change,  still  it  was  unaccountable  to 
him,  that  the  ladies  had  so  willingly  accepted  from  poor  Frock, 
what  they  had  refused  to  take  from  him.  They  worked  at  the 
linen  with  great  delight,  and  during  the  time  they  were  making 
the  new  dresses,  Frock's  name  was  incessantly  mentioned.  Buk- 
hardt said  one  day  to  Josephine  : 

"  You  accepted  from  Herr  Frock  the  gifts  you  despised  as 
coming  from  me.  1  scarcely  dare  to  offer  you  anything  for  fear 
of  offending  you  ;  for  it  would  give  me  pain  if  you  were  to  send 
it  back  to  me." 

"  Not  so,  Herr  Chancellor  ;  I  like  you  as  much  as  the  good 
Frock.  If  you  offer  anything,  you  will  see  that  I  will  not  refuse 
it ;  but  it  must  not  be  too  much.  For  instance,  the  carnation 
you  have  in  your  button-hole." 

"  Can  I  not  present  you  with  anything  better  worth  having,  my 
dear  lady  ?" 

*  Not  too  much." 

Bukhardt  leaned  over  her  chair,  and  whispered  : 
"  Take  all  that  I  have,  and  am,  and  myself  too." 
Josephine  drew  back,  blushing,  and  said  : 
"  Herr  Chancellor,  that  is  too  much  !" 

He  spoke  more  openly,  more  urgently  ;  thereupon  the  major 
came  in,  and  added  his  influence.  Josephine,  pressed  on  all  sides, 
said  in  a  solemn  voice  : 

"  I  feel  myself  honoured  by  your  friendship,  Herr  Chancellor ; 
but  I  beg  you  to  ask  for  nothing  more.  It  would  disturb  our 
peaceful,  contented  state  ;  but  let  it  be,  as  if  nothing  had  been 
said." 

Josephine  could  do  so  very  well  ;  but  not  the  disappointed 
chancellor.  From  that  day  he  avoided  the  house,  where  he  had 
lost  the  fairest  hopes  of  his  life.  In  about  three  months  they 
heard  that  he  was  married.  The  major  said,  with  a  dissatisfied 
look  at  Josephine  : 

"  The  poor  fellow  has  done  it  in  a  fit  of  desperation." 

Though  Frock  was  now  the  only  intimate  friend,  he  came  no 
oftener  to  the  house  than  regularly  every  Sunday  and  Wednes- 
day, or,  perhaps,  when  he  was  invited.  Neither  did  he  change 
his  manners,  which  seemed  to  shun  closer  intimacy.    With  his 


154 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


little  scholar  Leonore,  he  was  more  unreserved  ;  but  Leonore 
clung  to  him  with  all  the  tenderness  and  idolizing  affection  of 
which  a  girl  of  twelve  years  is  capable.  For  him  she  cultivated 
flowers  ;  for  him  she  prepared  little  surprises  ;  and  she  looked  at 
him  with  impatience  when  he  came  half  an  hour  after  his  time: 
it  was  he  too  of  whom  she  dreamed.  Wednesdays  and  Sundays 
were  her  festival  days. 

"  Herr  Frock,  dear  Herr  Frock,"  she  said  one  day,  "  you 
are  very  good  ;  but  Josephine  says  that  you  are  not  happy. 
And  you  are  not  happy.  Tell  me,  what  is  the  matter  with 
you  ?" 

"  I  am  happier  than  I  deserve  to  be." 
"  Is  that  true  ?" 
w  Certainly,  miss." 

"  Look  me  straight  in  the  face,  Herr  Frock.  Ah  !  there  is 
something  very  sad  here.  Now  be  very  quiet.  I  wish  to  ask 
you  something  very  serious  :  Why  do  you  never  go  to  church  ?" 

"  How  is  that  connected  with  my  happiness  ?" 

"  Do  you  ask  that  question  ?  Have  you  not  yourself  said  more 
than  once  :  without  religion  there  is  no  happiness  ?  He  who  is 
in  God  and  with  God,  how  can  he  be  unhappy  ?" 

"  But,  miss,  the  church  is  not  religion,  and  God  dwells  every- 
where." 

Leonore  reflected  for  a  moment,  shook  her  head,  and  an- 
swered : 

"  You  always  have  something  to  say  to  which  I  cannot  reply, 
and  yet  I  feel  that  you  are  wrong.  You  would  be  a  blessed  man, 
if  you  went  to  church." 

"  Was  not  Christ  more  blessed  than  we  are,  dear  ?  and,  tell 
me,  did  he  go  to  the  Catholic,  Lutheran,  or  Reformed  church  ? 
If  you  can  tell  me  truly  to  which  he  went,  there  will  I  follow 
him." 

Leonore  did  not  know  what  to  answer.  "  He  was  not  Catholic," 
said  she,  "  neither  Lutheran,  nor  Reformed.  What  are  you, 
then  ?  Why  do  you  not  belong  to  our  Catholic  church  ?  You 
are,  perhaps,"  added  Leonore,  timidly,  "  a  Lutheran  ?  Oh,  no  ! 
you  are  not.    Say  you  are  not." 


JONATHAN  FROCK. 


155 


"  Would  I  be  of  less  worth  in  your  eyes,"  returned  Frock,  11  if 
I  did  not  belong  to  your  church  ?" 

"  Ah  !  it  is  melancholy,"  sighed  Leonore,  and  wept  bitterly. 
Frock  could  scarcely  quiet  her. 

When  he  came  again,  he  observed  that  Leonore  looked  at  him 
more  earnestly  than  usual ;  that  her  manner  was  a  mixture  of 
compassion  and  anxiety.    He  drew  forth  a  book,  and  said  : 

"  This  will,  perhaps,  best  instruct  and  quiet  you." 

"  Oh  !  if  that  were  possible  !"  said  Leonore,  quickly. 

She  took  the  book.    It  was  Lessing's  Nathan  der  Weise. 


Either  this  excellent  book,  or  the  natural  volatility  of  Leo- 
nore's  mind,  quieted  questions  of  conscience.  She  consoled  her- 
self with  the  thought,  that  Frock  was  a  heretic.  She  secretly 
resolved  to  convert  him  ;  and  hoped  to  succeed,  by  inducing  him 
to  accompany  her  to  mass  on  Sundays,  and  perhaps  on  other  days 
of  the  week. 

In  the  meantime,  an  uijexpected  event  took  place,  which  put 
an  end  to  all  plans  of  conversion.  One  morning  the  major, 
perfectly  breathless,  ran  into  Frock's  room,  embraced  him,  and 
said : 

"  Now,  Friend  Jonathan,  now  your  David  can  return  all  your 
kindness  to  him,  and  reward  your  love  !    Look  at  this  letter !  It 

comes  from  the  Stadt  Rath  of  .    In  short — what  d'ye  call  it 

there  ? — All  the  same.  My  cousin,  the  old  lieutenant-general, 
you  know — what  d'ye  call  him  ? — I  have  told  you  how  he  was 
wounded,  at — what  d'ye  call  it? — well,  he  is  dead,  and  left  no 
heirs ;  and  by  his  last  will,  I  am  lawfully  the  only  heir  to  his 
estates.  God  bless  the  cousin — what  d'ye  call  him  ? — we  were 
always  good  friends.  I  am  a  rich  man.  Read  it!  They  write 
that  I  must  either  come  myself,  or  send  instead  a — what  d'ye 
call  him  ? — who  understands  better  than  I,  the  arranging  of  the 
whole  thing.  The  devil !  there  are  women,  and  lawyers  there, 
who  protest  against  it.  If  it  should  go  wrong,  and  end  in  smoke, 
I  know  nothing  about  law.  I  am  old,  and  cannot  travel  in  the 
rough  winter  weather." 

Frock  read  the  letter.    The  case  stood,  as  Major  Von  Tulpen 


156 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


had  said,  with  regard  to  the  property ;  but  the  will,  as  well  as 
the  prior  right  to  the  estate,  was  contested  by  a  distant  line  of 
the  relations  of  the  deceased,  whose  name  they  bore.  Frock 
promised  the  major  that  he  would  undertake  the  journey,  and  set- 
tle the  business. 

"If  the  affairs  are  arranged  by  the  spring,  then  on  the  first 
fine  day  you  can  visit  your  estates,"  said  Frock. 

He  then  put  up  his  books,  and  began  with  the  major  immedi- 
ately to  examine  his  relationship  to  the  deceased. 

Several  days  passed  before  the  necessary  papers  could  be  col- 
lected, for  the  decision  of  the  lawsuit.  During  this  time,  Frock 
having  given  up  his  former  office-business,  was  every  day  at  the 
major's  house.  What  plans  were  made  !  What  dreams !  Leo- 
nore  and  Josephine  painted,  in  hues  brighter  than  those  of  the 
rainbow,  a  heaven  in  the  future.  Frock  was  as  certainly  con- 
nected with  their  plans  as  their  father.  How  could  he  be  the 
only  one,  who  did  not  know  that  he  was  indispensable  to  the  hap- 
piness of  the  rest  ? 

Even  Josephine,  who  understood  so^perfectly  her  sphere  of  ac- 
tion ;  upon  whose  approbation  all  depended,  and  who  was  adored 
by  every  one  ;  even  Josephine  did  not  conceal  from  her  father, 
that  Frock  must  leave  the  city,  and  accompany  them  to  the  prom- 
ised land. 

"  We  should  otherwise  be  (such  was  the  expression  she  made 
use  of)  without  a  blessing." 

"  You  have  chosen  the  right  word  !"  cried  Leonore  ;  "  did  you 
hear  it,  dear  father  ?  without  a  blessing" 

The  major  answered,  "Of  course." 

"  But,"  said  Josephine,  rising  from  her  seat  at  the  window,  and 
throwing  her  arms  around  the  major's  neck — "  but,  father,  do  you 
think  he  will  be  able  to  make  up  his  mind  to  go  1  He  has  not 
said  a  word  about  it,  though  we  have  given  him  the  chief  place 
in  our  projects.  Dear  father,  Frock  is  a  very  peculiar  man.  I 
entreat  you,  make  him  promise  to  accompany  us." 

Herr  Von  Tulpen  was  much  surprised  at  Josephine's  anxiety. 

"  I  am  really  afraid  !"  said  she. 

When  Frock  came,  the  major's  first  words  were  : 

"  Friend  Jonathan,  my  girls  wish  to  frighten  me  by  saying, 


JONATHAN  FROCK. 


157 


that  you  would  be  silly  enough  to  leave  us  when  we  went  to — 
what  d'ye  call  it  ? — there  are  no  two  ways  about  it,  inind  ye  ! 
You  make  nothing  by  living  in  the  city,  and  must  go  to  tne  estate, 
and  remain  till  the  end  of  your  life.  Select  your  dwelling,  all 
and  everything.    We  will  be  content  with  anything  you  choose." 

Frock  bowed  and  thanked  him.  It  was  evident  he  felt  un- 
happy. 

Leoiiore  sprang,  with  a  loud  exclamation,  and  outstretched 
arms,  toward  Frock,  and  embracing  him  affectionately,  cried : 

"  Oh  !  dear  Herr  Frock,  do  not  put  on  such  a  face  ;  it  is  that 
of  a  dead  angel,  I  am  sure." 

Josephine  had  seen  it,  and  sunk  down  quite  pale.  She  trem. 
bled,  and  from  time  to  time  looked  at  Frock. 

"  Speak  !"  cried  Leonore.  "  You  remain  for  ever  with  us. 
In  God's  name,  say  yes  ! 

Frock  laid  both  hands  on  his  heart,  and  with  an  imploring  look, 
said  : 

"  I  cannot." 

"  Ha  !"  cried  the  major,  aghast.  "  Am  I  not  your  David  ? 
And  you  will  forsake  me,  Jonathan  ?  Do  not  jest  with  us  !  You 
see  how  much  pain  such  a  jest  causes  us.  Give  me  your  hand, 
comrade ;  you  will  pass  your  life  with  us." 

"  I  cannot !"  answered  Frock,  half  aloud,  but  with  his  usual 
tone  of  decision. 

"  You  cannot,  Jonathan  ? — what  prevents  you  ?  You  are  as 
free  as  the  bird  in  the  air.  You  cannot  ? — nonsense !  What 
keeps  you  in  the  city  ?    Are  we  not  your  only  friends  ?" 

"  The  only  ones." 

"  Or — ha  !  has  the  young  fellow  a  sweetheart  ?  Nonsense  ! 
We  will  take  the-— what  d'ye  call  her  ? — with  us.  Out  with  it : 
a  sweetheart  ?" 

"  None." 

"  Well  !  what  pleases  you  so  much  in  the  city  ?" 
"  Nothing." 

"And  will  you  not  stay  with  us,  and  live  in  the  promised  land 
with  us,  because  you  have  been  our  good  angel  in  our  years  of 
trouble  ?" 

"  I  cannot." 


158 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


"  Why  not  ?  There  must  be  some  impediment.  It  can  be 
removed.  Do  you  not  know  that  when  they  said  at — what  d'ye 
call  it  ? — it  would  be  impossible  to  take  the  battery,  that  I  led  my 
grenadiers  against  it,  and  took  it,  though  it  did  cost  ten  or  more 
fine  fellow's  lives." 

"  I  would  do  anything  for  you — I  could  die  for  you.  But  pray 
do  something  for  me.  Leave  me  at  liberty  to  go  where  I  like,  so 
soon  as  I  have  arranged  your  affairs,  and  say  nothing  ftfrther  to 
me.  You  do  not  know  how  you  tear  my  heart.  If  my  life,  my 
health  are  dear  to  you,  say  nothing  more  to  me  about  it." 

"  Then  farewell,  promised  land  !"  sobbed  Leonore.  "  Father, 
then  we  will  remain  here  in  the  city." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  major,  gloomily. 

"  Then — then,"  stammered  Frock,  "  I  will  leave  the  city. 
Sacred  duties  call  me  hence." 

He  was  so  agitated,  as  he  pronounced  the  last  words,  that  he 
could  scarcely  utter  them.  He  withdrew,  promising  to  return 
after  a  short  walk. 

And  when  he  did  return,  he  found  them  all  in  the  same  places 
where  he  had  left  them.  The  major  leaned  gloomily  back  in  his 
arm-chair.  Leonore  sat  in  a  corner  with  weeping  eyes  ;  Jose- 
phine without  tears,  but  like  a  stone.  There  was  something  in- 
describable  in  her  expression  ;  deathlike,  immovable  ;  frightful 
with  all  its  beauty.    Leonore  and  her  father  arose  to  welcome  him. 

"  You  have  thought  better  of  it ;  is  it  not  so,  Jonathan  ?"  said 
the  major.    But  Josephine  did  not  stir. 

"Let  us  talk  on  pleasanter  subjects,"  said  Frock,  but  the 
attempt  was  vain.  Frock  took  out  some  paper  and  wrote  till 
dark.  The  others  sat  around  in  silence.  Leonore  wept  and 
sewed.  Josephine,  motionless,  with  her  beautiful  head  leaning 
on  her  hand,  stared  out  of  the  window,  without  observing  the  pass- 
ers-by. 


"  Do  you  still  persevere  in  your  childish  behaviour  ?"  cried 
the  major  the  following  day,  as  he  entered  his  friend  Jonathan's 
chamber,  and  found  him  lying  on  the  bed,  with  swollen  eyes,  and 
as  pale  as  death. 


JONATHAN  FROCK. 


159 


Frock  had  been  expected  at  the  Tulpen  house  to  dinner,  and 
had  not  come. 

"  How  late  is  it  V  said  Frock,  and  sprang  up. 

At  the  side  of  his  bed  stood  a  table,  with  cold  punch  and  a  de- 
canter of  Madeira.  He  drank  a  glass  of  the  latter,  and  held  out 
his  hand  to  the  major. 

"  Past  three  o'clock,"  said  Major  Von  Tulpen. 

"  Past  three  o'clock  ?  Then  I  have  been  in  a  dead  sleep  for 
seven  hours.  So  much  the  better.  J  finished  everything  last 
night.  I  can  travel  to  the  estate  to-morrow.  I  shall  pay  my  old 
landlady,  and  spend  the  evening  with  you,  and  let  the  post-wagon 
stop  for  me  there.  It  does  not  agree  with  me  here.  My  health 
requires  change  of  scene  ;  otherwise  it  will  destroy  me." 

"  Have  you  had  company  ?"  asked  the  major,  and  pointed  to 
the  punch. 

"  I  have  worked  all  night,  and  ' 

"  Wished  to  raise  your  spirits." 

"  My  spirits  require  no  excitement.  But,  no  matter  what  de- 
pressed the  spirits,  poor  flesh  and  blood  must  be  sustained." 

"  Comrade,  you  look  miserably.  We  are  men,  comrade  ;  for 
God's  sake  !  tell  me  what  is  wronging  you  ?  I  will  be  as  silent 
as  the  grave,  only  speak.  Why  are  you  not  like  other  children 
of  men  ?  Why  did  you  refuse  that — what  d'ye  call  him  ? — the 
prince  who  offered  you,  in  the  prison,  an  honourable  situation  in 
his  country  ?  Why  did  you  prefer  lowliness  and  poverty  ?  Why 
do  you  love  us,  and  yet  appear  colder  and  more  strange  to  us, 
than  you  feel  ?  Why  do  you  renounce  the  pleasures  of  friend- 
ship, evidently  contrary  to  the  inclination  of  your  heart,  which  is 
so  susceptible  of  friendship  ?  Why  do  you  avoid  good  men  who 
seek  you,  and  would  willingly  risk  their  lives  for  you  ?  Why 
are  you  as  changeable  as  the  sun,  in  an  April  day  ?  In  the 
midst  of  gayety,  dark  clouds  pass  over  your  joyous  countenance. 
Do  not  seek  to  escape  me.  See,  Jonathan,  there  will  be  nothing 
more  between  us,  if  you  do  not  tell  me.  Why  will  you  not  stay 
with  us,  when  you  return  from  my  expected  estates  ?  We  n^ed 
you.  We  swear  to  you,  it  is  worth  more  to  us  than  a  kingdom. 
You  are  generally  so  soft-hearted  \  why  are  you  now  so  hard- 
hearted ?" 


160 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


Frock  filled  his  glass  once  more,  and  swallowed  the  wine. 

"  1  really  believe  you  wish  to  intoxicate  yourself.  Is  it  not 
so  ?  Jonathan,  we  are  alone.  Let  us  speak  honestly  and  soberly 
together.  Have  you  committed  a  crime  1  Speak,  for  I  could 
swear  you  did  it  unintentionally,  and  have  long  since  atoned  for 
it.  You  will  lose  nothing  in  my  love  for  you.  Had  you  slain 
my  father  or  mother,  I  could  forgive  you  for  it." 

"  I  am  no  criminal  !"  said  Frock,  with  a  proud  glance. 

"  The  old  Nick  !  then  you  are  a  fool  !  What  evil  spirit  tor- 
ments you  then  ?    Can  you  not  solve  the  mystery  V9 

"  With  one  word,  if  I  wished,  Herr  Major.  I  have  determined 
that  you  shall  know  it." 

"When  ?" 

"  To-day  before  I  leave  for  your  estates." 
"  And  when  I  have  heard  the  one  word,  and  say  to  you,  Jona- 
than, it  is  all  nonsense." 
"  That  you  will  not  say." 

"  The  old  Nick  !  I  would  if  I  could  put  an  end  to  your  misery." 
"  That  you  could  not  do." 

"  But  listen.    Do  not  put  me  in  a  passion.    I  say  I  will  do  it ; 
and  if  I  can  do  it,  will  you  then  stay  with  us  V9 
"Yes." 

"  Yes!  your  hand  upon  it." 

Frock  gave  his  hand  ;  the  major  embraced  him,  as  if  all  diffi- 
culties were  overcome. 

"  Upon  your  word,  then,  you  will  to-day  tell  me  the  fatal  se- 
cret of  which  you  have  nothing  to  be  ashamed  ?" 

"  This  evening,  Herr  Major,  before  I  get  into  the  wagon.  But 
mind  that  the  leave-taking  be  gay,  or  at  least  peaceful.  Let  us 
drink  punch,  to  forget  our  sorrow.  Sometimes  it  may  be  a  duty 
to  become  intoxicated,  and  I  should  wish  to  be  so,  when  I  leave 
you.    My  life  with  you  has  been  only  a  state  of  intoxication." 

The  major  promised  to  take  care  that  the  evening  should  be 

gay- 

"  We  will  take  leave  of  each  other  more  contentedly  than  you 
suppose,"  said  he,  and  went  home  to  make  preparations. 


JONATHAN  FROCK. 


161 


Frock  packed  up  everything,  and  when  he  had  finished,  saw 
that  he  had  forgotten  the  telescope.    The  tears  started  in  his  eyes. 

"  Ah !"  sighed  he,  "  come  and  make  me  happy  for  the  last 
time." 

He  stepped  to  the  window  and  looked  out,  and  beheld  Josephine. 
By  her  movements,  he  found  that  she  was  weeping  and  sobbing. 
After  a  while,  she  hastily  wiped  her  eyes  and  cheeks  with  her 
handkerchief.  Oh  !  how  beautiful  she  was,  as  she  raised  her 
blue  eyes  in  prayer,  to  the  blue  heavens.  She  went  into  the 
house. 

"  Good  night,  for  ever  ! — good  night,  Josephine  !"  cried  Frock, 
as  he  threw  himself  on  the  bed,  in  heart-rending  grief. 

He  loved  Josephine,  with  all  the  passion  of  which  a  tender 
heart  is  capable.  He  had  now  lived  for  two  years  in  her  society, 
in  silent  adoration  of  her  ;  had  striven  with  himself  for  two  years, 
and  found  his  passion  was  unconquerable.  Therefore  the  jour- 
ney and  change  of  scene  were  welcome  to  him,  for  he  hoped  to 
cure  himself ;  and  intended  only  after  a  long  time,  or  perhaps 
never  again  to  see  the  charmer. 

Frock  thought  and  acted  like  a  man,  who  does  not  wish  to  be- 
come the  prey  of  his  passion.  As  often  as  lie  had  visited  the 
Tulpen  house,  in  the  two  years  past,  he  had  been  able  (with  re- 
markable strength  of  mind,)  to  conceal  under  a  cold,  polite  exte- 
rior, the  inward  raging  of  his  soul.  He  had  been  intimate  with, 
and  talkative  to  every  one  excepting  Josephine.  She  could  not 
suspect  his  passion  ;  still  less  did  it  enter  his  head,  that  he  could 
excite  a  similar  feeling  in  her.  And  could  he  have  thought  that 
Josephine  returned  his  affection,  he  would  long  since  have  fled 
the  house,  the  city,  the  kingdom. 

Sometimes,  it  appeared  suspicious,  when  he  accidentally  saw 
her  dark,  earnest  eye,  fixed  upon  him,  and  then  suddenly  rest- 
lessly turned  away.  Sometimes,  when  she  spoke  with  singular 
energy,  not  to  him,  but  to  others,  if  the  conversation  related  to 
him — sometimes,  when  she  took  most  pleasure  in  doing  what  he 
best  liked  ;  something  breathed  through  her  existence,  which 
spoke  to  him,  like  Love  to  Love.  She  was  more  reserved,  more 
thoughtful  in  his  company,  than  in  any  other  person's.  Still  he 
had  never  addressed  a  flattering  word  to  her,  nor  she  to  him. 

part  n.  12 


162 


ZSCHOKKE  S  TALES. 


They  behaved  like  strangers  to  each  other,  with  a  formal  civility 
of  manners.  Frock  now  recovered  his  manly  spirit,  emptied  the 
third  glass  of  Madeira,  put  on  his  travelling  clothes,  ordered  the 
post- wagon,  in  which  his  trunk  was  placed,  and  then  went  to  the 
Tulpen  house. 

It  was  rather  an  embarrassment  to  him,  to  fiiid  Josephine  alone 
in  the  room.  She  was  looking  pale.  He  asked  after  her  father 
and  sister.  The  latter  had  gone  to  make  the  punch ;  the  major 
had  been  absent  an  hour.  Frock  threw  off  his  cloak,  and  asked 
several  indifferent  questions,  which  were  answered  only  in  mono- 
syllables. She  sat  at  the  window  knitting,  without  raising  her 
eyes.  He  stood  at  the  chimney,  looking  at  her.  She  had  never 
appeared  to  him  so  beautiful,  as  at  that  moment. 

After  a  silence  of  several  minutes,  she  arose,  looked  at  him,  and 
then  slowly  approached  him.  "  Frock,"  said  she,  with  her  usual 
coldness,  and  looking  at  him  steadfastly,  "  do  you  go  away  to-day, 
as  my  father  says  ?  I  have  to  ask  you  a  question.  Answer  me 
plainly.  You  have  resolved  not  to  return  to  us.  I  will  not  ask 
the  reason,  if  it  is  different  from  what  I  suppose  it  to  be  ;  bfft  an- 
swer me  truly,  if  I  give  the  reason,  and  dissipate  your  error.  I 
feel  it ;  I  am  the  author  of  all  your  misery,  and  it  gives  me 
pain." 

Frock's  face  became  scarlet,  and  his  heart  beat  so  fast,  that  he 
could  scarcely  say  :  "  Dear  Miss,  what  makes  you  say  so  ?  what 
can  make  you  think  so  ?" 

"  If  I  am  mistaken,  so  much  the  better,"  said  Josephine ;  "  it 
would  add  much  to  my  contentedness  for  the  future.  Answer 
me  truly.    We  are  alone  ;  but  God  is  our  witness.    Will  you  ?" 

Frock  trembled  ;  he  answered  :  "  I  will,"  but  scarce  had  the 
courage  to  meet  the  maiden's  eyes ;  Josephine  stood  looking  so 
serious,  yet  so  lovely  before  him. 

"  Confess,  then.  You  have  thrown  my  father  and  my  sister 
into  grief  and  tears  ;  you  wish  to  separate  yourself  from  them  for 
ever ;  from  those  who  love  you  so  much,  and  for  whom  you  your- 
self cannot  help  feeling  the  most  sincere  friendship.  You  insist 
on  leaving  us  for  ever,  and  that  only  on  my  account  ?" 

Conscience  stricken,  and  overcome  by  his  feelings,  Frock  could 
not  collect  himself  sufficiently  to  answer. 


JONATHAN  FROCK. 


163 


"Your  silence  confirms  my  suspicions,"  said  Josephine.  "  I 
feared  it  some  time  since,  and  Leonore  guessed  it.  But  I  declare 
to  you,  my  dear  Frock,  and  the  Almighty  knows  it,  that  it  never 
was  my  intention  to  offend  or  annoy  you.  My  behaviour  toward 
you  may  have  been  blamable ;  I  have  not  treated  you  as  my 
father  and  sister  did,  as  I  might  have  done  ;  but,  oh  !  believe  that 
I  highly  esteem  you.  Would  I  otherwise  have  taken  the  presents 
from  you,  which  I  refused  to  accept  from  the  chancellor  ?  I  cer- 
tainly never  intended  to  offend  you  ;  I  behaved  different  to  you, 
than  I  did  to  other  persons ;  but  Heaven  is  my  witness,  that  I 
could  not  have  done  otherwise.  Pardon  me  for  it  •  and  be  as- 
sured that  I  do  not  feel  unkindly  toward  you  now,  or  have  done 
so.  I  esteem  you,  though  I  do  not  express  my  sense  of  your 
worth,  as  my  father  and  Leonore  do.  You  forgive  me ;  do  you 
not  ?    You  are  not  still  angry  with  me  ?" 

Much  moved,  and  quite  overcome  by  his  feelings,  Frock  caught 
hold  of  Josephine's  hand,  and  said : 

"  What  is  it  you  say  ?  Offended  me  ?  How  can  you  imagine 
such  a  thing,  lady  ?  Oh  !  no,  no  !  To  breathe  in  your  pres- 
ence, was  my  only,  my  greatest  happiness.  Yes  !  dearest,  the 
thought  of  you  will  ever  be  most  dear  to  me."  He  pressed  her 
hand  to  his  heart,  then  let  it  go,  drew  back,  and  stammered  forth  : 
"Bless  the  unhappy  one,  and  let  him  depart." 

"  Do  you  care  as  much  for  me,  as  for  my  father  and  Leonore  V 
asked  Josephine,  speaking  slowly,  and  looking  at  him  with  earn- 
estness.   He  sank  at  her  feet,  raised  her  hand  to  his,  and  said : 

«  More !" 

"  What  are  you  doing  ?"  cried  Josephine. 

He  arose  in  great  confusion,  scarce  conscious  of  what  he  was 
doing.    Her  hand  lay  in  his,  and  she  drew  it  not  away. 

"Now  that  the  misunderstanding  is  settled,"  said  she,  in  a 
trembling  voice,  "  I  may  tell  my  father  and  Leonore,  that  you 
will  not  separate  yourself  from  us  ?" 

"  Lady  !"  cried  Frock,  "  you  only,  in  the  world,  can  decide 
what  I  shall  do.  I  shall  obey.  But  do  not  require  me  to  stay 
here !    You  would  be  asking  my  death." 

The  tears  started  into  Josephine's  eyes,  and  ran  down  her 


164 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


cheeks,  but  her  countenance  remained  the  same.  In  a  cold,  quiet 
voice  she  said  : 

"  If  you  leave  us  forever,  you  will  destroy  my  father's  and 
Leonore's  joy,  and  happiness  for  life — and  you  will  kill  me." 

After  uttering  the  last  words,  which  were  said  with  some  hesi- 
tation, she  sank  in  a  chair,  and  sobbed  aloud,  in  irrepressible 
grief.  Frock,  no  longer  master  of  himself,  threw  his  arms  around 
the  fainting  girl.  As  if  in  a  dream,  he  clasped  her,  bent  over  her 
face,  and  pressed  his  lips  to  hers.  The  past  and  future  were 
alike  forgotten.  Her  sighs  revealed  to  him,  what  he  would  not 
have  believed  had  all  the  angels  of  heaven  assured  him  of  it. 
When  from  pride,  or  shame,  Josephine  drew  herself  back,  he 
stood  as  if  doubting  what  had  happened ;  then  once  more  ap- 
proaching the  girl,  he  drew  her  again  toward  him.    She  said : 

"  Then  you  never  were  angry  with  me  ?" 

u  Before  you  knew  me,  I  loved  you  more  than  my  life !"  cried 
he,  enraptured. 


At  this  moment,  they  heard  the  major  and  Leonore  approach- 
ing. Josephine  hastened  to  meet,  and  embrace  them;  and  cried, 
with  a  flushed  and  animated  countenance  : 

"  Everything  is  right !  everything  is  right !" 

u  Thank  God  !"  said  the  major,  as  he  shook  the  delighted 
Frock  by  the  hand.  "  The  devil  stands  ready  for  every  one ; 
there  would  have  been  mischief,  if  the  little  one  here  had  not  hit 
upon  a  cunning  expedient." 

He  pointed  to  Leonore. 

Leonore  danced  for  joy.  She  ran  up  to  Frock  and  said : 
"  Then  you  are  quite  reconciled.  It  is  true,  Josephine  has 
sometimes  treated  you  strangely,  but  she  likes  you  very  much — 
I  know  she  does.  Oh  !  how  happy  I  am !  Come,  I  must  give 
you  a  kiss  for  it.  I  am  as  giddy  as  if  I  had  been  drinking  punch." 
With  this  she  clung  to  his  neck  like  a  burr,  and  kissed  him  with 
the  greatest  affection. 

Then  the  cloth  was  laid  ;  the  candles  were  lighted  ;  cold  meats 
and  wine  were  brought  in  ;  Leonore  and  Frock  had  to  make  the 
punch.    They  were  all  very  gay,  though  they  said  nothing  very 


JONATHAN  FROCK. 


165 


connectedly.  Frock  stood  as  if  in  a  dream,  squeezing  lemons. 
Josephine  floated  hither  and  thither  ;  her  bright  eyes  turned  to- 
ward tiie  only  one  who  had  infused  light  into  the  darkness  of  her 
soul.  Jjeonere  sang,  cracked  sugar,  danced  around,  laughed, 
and  said  repeatedly,  "  I  am  very  silly."  The  old  major  smoked 
his  pipe,  walked  up  and  down,  joined  sometimes  in  Leonore's 
song,  and,  between  whiles,  swore  in  a  very  droll  manner  at  his 
Jonathan. 

They  seated  themselves  in  a  merry  circle.  Leonore  filled  the 
punch-glasses,  and  now  they  must  drink  to  eternal  friendship. 
Frock,  becoming  excited,  drank  glass  after  glass  ;  he  seemed  to 
wish  either  to  forget  himself  in  intoxication,  or  to  enjoy  his  hap- 
piness to  its  full  extent.  His  countenance  often  involuntarily  re- 
sumed its  usual  sadness ;  but  no  sooner  did  Leonore  observe  it, 
than  raising  her  finger  threateningly,  she  said  :  "  You  are  right. 
All  must  be  forgotten  now.  Evil  will  come  at  its  own  time." 
So  he  gave  himself  up  to  his  happiness. 

When  the  simple  supper  was  finished,  and  the  punch  had  raised 
their  spirits,  and  the  conversation  was  flowing  freely,  the  major 
pulled  out  his  watch,  and  looked  at  the  time.  Frock  observed  it, 
showed  alarm,  and  became  suddenly  gloomy  and  silent.  Jose- 
phine shook  her  head  at  him,  laid  her  hand  softly  upon  his,  and 
said,  "  Again  the  evil  spirit." 

The  touch  of  her  hand  drove  all  Frock's  blood  more  joyfully 
through  his  pulse  :  "  I  was  only  thinking  of  the  journey,"  said  he. 

"  The  journey  !"  cried  Leonore,  displeased.  "  I  say  delay  the 
journey  for  a  fortnight." 

Josephine  joined  her  other  hand  to  the  first,  and  whispered, 
with  an  imploring  smile,  "  Yes,  yes  !  Frock,  for  two  days  !" 

"  Children,"  cried  the  major,  interposing,  "Jonathan  has  no 
longer  a  lodging  in  the  city,  and  everything  is  packed  up.  He 
must  now  go,  and  you  must  not  detain  him.  He  will  sit  as  com- 
fortably in  the  post-wagon  as  in  the  inn.  What  must  be,  must 
be.  Let  him  go.  I  part  with  him  willingly  now,  as  he  is  to  re- 
main with  us  for  ever.  In  a  few  weeks  he  will  return  to  us,  to 
go  to  the  promised  land." 

The  "  promised  land"  was  enough  to  inspirit  every  one.  The 
former  plans  for  the  future  were  reviewed  and  embellished.  The 


166 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


major  spoke  of  by-gone  days  with  touching  delight.  He  lived 
only  for  his  daughters,  and,  until  now,  he  had  had  only  the  most 
gloomy  prospects  for  them. 

"  I  am  now  safe,  and  can  close  my  eyes  in  peace.  Jhey  will 
at  least  not  be  obliged  to  struggle  with  poverty,"  said  he.  "  But, 
girls,  one  thing  is  wanting.  I  must  not  forget  to  get  it  before  I 
leave  you  :  A  pair  of  sons-in-law  who  will  please  me,  and  be  like 
my  own  sons  to  me." 

"  Do  not  trouble  yourself  about  me,  papa,"  said  Leonore,  laugh- 
ing ;  "  you  will  be  contented  with  me.  And  as  for  Josephine 
there ;  look  at  them,  with  their  hands  joined  together,  and  their 
eyes  fixed  on  each  other.  Did  you  ever  see  anything  like  it, 
papa  ?  Make  Jonathan  your  son  ;  how  happy  I  shall  be  with 
such  a  brother." 

Josephine,  blushing,  drew  away  her  hand,  and  said : 

"  I  really  believe,  child,  that  you  are  intoxicated." 

"Jonathan!  Jonathan!"  cried  the  major,  threatening  jestingly 
and  significantly  across  the  table,  "  I  see  mischief  is  going  on. 
Why  are  you  holding  Josephine's  hand,  when  for  the  last  two 
years  you  scarce  ventured  to  look  her  in  the  face  ?  Come  here 
at  once  !  something  strikes  me." 

Frock  arose,  and  went  to  the  major. 

"  Be  more  candid,  Jonathan,"  said  the  major,  "  be  more  candid 
now,  than  you  were  with  me  this  afternoon.  You  love  Jose- 
phine ?" 

Frock  took  the  major's  hand,  and  pressed  it  in  silence  to  his 
breast.  Josephine  arose  in  beautiful  confusion,  looked  to  the 
rio-ht  and  left,  and  wished  to  leave  the  room. 

"  Stop,  girl  !  stay  here  !"  said  her  father  ;  "  for  you  shall  make 
good  what  you  told  me  before  dinner.  Stay  here.  All  shall  be  set- 
tled ;  then  you  will  know  where  you  are.  I  am  no  friend  to  delib- 
eration and  suspense.  And  you,  Jonathan,  open  your  mouth  and 
speak.  Curse  this  timidity,  which  was  within  a  hair's  breadth 
of  making  our  unhappiness.  You  love  Josephine.  Is  it  not  the 
cause  of  the  misery  you  would  not  confess,  and  which  threatened 
to  drive  you  from  us  V- 

"  It  is  my  misfortune,"  said  Frock,  with  sad  and  averted  looks. 


JONATHAN  FROCK. 


167 


"  I  love  her  :  how  could  I  do  otherwise  ?  That  is  the  cause  of 
my  misery." 

"  Go  to  !  Jonathan  !  do  not  speak  in  that  way.  Misery  ? 
What !  if  you  thought  yourself  poor,  could  I  not  give  to  you  ? 
Are  you  not  richer  than  I  ?  If  you  have  thought  yourself  but  a 
citizen  and  dared  not  raise  your  eyes  to  Fraulein  Von  Tulpen, 
curse  it !  have  you  not  a  more  noble  heart  than  I  ?  Remember  the 
gold  snuff-box.  Have  I  ever  once  been  so  noble  as  you  have 
often  been  ?  If  you  have  fancied  that  I  despised  you,  you  are 
quite  wrong,  young  man.  I  learned  this  morning,  with  mingled 
joy  and  grief,  what  you  are  to  her.  I  could  not  force  my  child 
upon  you  ;  but  that  you  might  have  an  opportunity  of  explaining 
yourself,  I  asked  for  your  confidence.  Do  you  now  feel  misera- 
ble ?" 

Frock  continued  to  gaze  around.  Just  then  the  roll  of  a  wag- 
on was  heard.    The  postboy's  horn  sounded  before  the  door. 

"  Wait  outside  !"  cried  the  major.  Rising  from  his  chair,  he 
embraced  Jonathan  and  Josephine.  "  It  must  be  so,  before  you 
leave  us.  God  bless  you  !  Take  her,  Jonathan  ;  she  is  your 
bride — you  are  my  son  !" 

Frock,  in  great  emotion,  drew  back. 

"  What !"  stammered  the  major,  in  alarm  ;  "  what  is  the  mat- 
ter?'' 

Josephine  looked  with  amazement  at  Frock. 

"  Do  you  not  love  her  ?"  asked  the  major  angrily. 

"  I  dare  not,"  answered  Frock. 

"  Dare  not?    What  prevents  you  ?" 

"  You  will  not — you  dare  not  give  me  Josephine.  Josephine 
cannot  love  me.    I  am  no  criminal  ;  but  I  am  " 

At  this  word,  Frock  drew  a  sealed  paper  from  his  pocket,  and 
threw  it  upon  the  table.  Josephine  turned  as  pale  as  death. 
Leonore,  frightened,  screamed  aloud,  and  could  not  understand 
what  was  going  on. 

"  Be  quiet !"  cried  the  major.  "  What  the  Nick  is  the  matter  ? 
Jonathan,  out  with  it !    Why  do  you  hesitate  to  become  my  son  ?" 

"  Herr  Major,"  said  Frock,  in  a  very  earnest  and  impressive 
manner,  "  I  adore  Josephine — I  have  never  loved  any  other 
maiden.    I  am  not,  however,  to  blame,  that  I  cannot  enjoy  the 


168 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


happiness  that  you  so  generously  destine  for  me ;  neither  is  fate 
to  be  blamed." 

"  Away  with  your  prefaces,"  interrupted  the  major  ;  *  where 
does  the  fault  then  lie  ?" 

"  In  your  prejudices,  Herr  Major." 
"  The  old  Nick  !  in  my  prejudices  !" 
"  I  am  not  a  Christian." 
"  Jesu  Maria  !"  cried  Leonore. 

"  I  was  born  in  the  Mosaic  faith,  and  am  a  Jew." 

"  A  Jew  !"  faltered  the  major  stupefied,  as  he  let  his  arm  fall 
by  his  side.  Leonore  sprung  with  a  piercing  cry  to  Josephine, 
who  sank  on  a  chair.  Frock  said,  "  Read  the  sealed  paper. 
Farewell  !  ye  dear  ones  !  farewell  to  you,  my  heaven  !"  and  seiz- 
ing his  cloak  and  hat,  he  rushed  out  of  the  door.  The  post-boy 
blew  his  horn.  The  wagon  rolled  on.  The  contents  of  the 
sealed  paper,  which  must  be  regarded  as  a  continuation  of  Frock's 
speech,  ran,  word  for  word,  as  follows  : 

"  I  am  a  Jew  ;  this  confession,  ye  beloved  ones,  will  solve  the 
mystery  of  my  conduct.  What  maiden  in  all  Christendom 
would  consent  to  make  me  happy  ?  What  temporal  or  spiritual 
authority  of  our  land,  would  suffer  me  to  hold  any  public  office, 
or  to  teach  in  a  school  of  Christian  children  ?  I  am  a  Jew,  which 
condemns  me  without  having  committed  any  offence,  and  only  be- 
cause I  descend  from  a  people,  who,  from  the  prejudices  of  the 
last  thousand  years,  are  despised  and  outlawed  by  Christians, 
Turks,  and  Heathens.  They  are  so  oppressed  by  the  contempt 
in  which  they  are  held,  that,  alas  !  they  often  merit  it.  I  was 
born  in  Alsace,  of  poor  parents,  who,  like  many  others  of  our 
belief,  gained  their  livelihood  by  artifice,  usury,  and  deceiving 
Christians  ;  all  caused  by  the  prejudice  of  the  world  against  them. 

"  The  French  revolution  broke  out  in  my  early  youth.  It  was 
then,  the  professors  of  the  Mosaic  religion  first  obtained  the  right 
of  being  considered  men  among  men,  and  of  being  made  citizens 
of  a  great  city  ;  not  banished,  nor  merely  tolerated  creatures. 

"  In  the  confusion  of  the  civil  war,  I  became  a  drummer,  and 
was  torn  from  my  home  before  I  was  of  age.  The  old  people  I 
never  saw  again.    But  my  youth,  my  daring  courage,  and  my 


JONATHAN  FROCK. 


169 


natural  understanding  gained  me  friends.  I  became  the  servant 
of  a  colonel,  who  afterward  won  an  honourable  name  among  the 
French  generals,  and  who  took  so  much  interest  in  me,  that  he 
regretted  my  many  imprudences  on  the  field  of  battle.  He  al- 
lowed me  to  indulge  at  his  expense  my  desire  for  learning,  by  at- 
tending a  school  in  a  French  frontier  town.  Thus  I  received 
such  cultivation  of  mind  and  heart,  that  it  was  of  the  greatest  im- 
portance to  me,  in  my  future  position  in  the  world.  My  educa- 
tion in  science  was  not  completed.  Yet  if  I  had  ventured  to  de- 
vote myself  to  medicine,  I  should  perhaps  have  been  able  to  gain 
an  honourable  existence  in  some  great  town.  My  patron  (the 
general),  however,  recalled  me,  and  made  me  his  private  secre- 
tary. I  remained  with  him,  until  his  death,  which  was  caused 
by  a  cannon-ball.  Without  either  calling  or  prospects  for  the 
future,  I  chose  the  trade  of  war;  long  followed  the  troops,  hither 
and  thither  upon  the  fields  of  battle  ;  made  myself  rich  with  a 
sorrowful  wisdom,  observing  the  miseries  of  the  people  and  their 
rulers,  and  the  passions  and  prejudices  that  alone  govern  the 
earth.  Above  all,  I  endeavoured  to  preserve  the  consciousness 
of  my  inner  worth,  and  to  resign  all  claims  to  any  outward  ac- 
knowledgment of  it.  The  life  of  Jesus  Christ  has  wrought  this  im- 
provement within  me.  In  wisdom,  virtue,  or  courage,  no  greater 
than  he  has  ever  appeared  on  the  earth.  Every  great  man  is 
great  only  in  relation  to  the  existing  events  of  his  age.  The 
greatness  of  Jesus,  however,  is  confined  to  no  age,  and  dependent 
on  no  circumstances  belonging  to  his  time.  Still,  should  he  now 
appear  for  the  first  time  among  Christians,  they  would  nail  him 
to  the  cross  as  the  Jews  did. 

"  I  make  it  the  aim  of  my  life  to  become  like  Jesus  ;  to  sacri- 
fice the  exterior  to  the  innermost,  the  perishable  to  the  eternal  ;  to 
the  great  aim  of  the  spirit,  the  bodily,  domestic,  and  political  ties. 
In  courage  and  strength  I  am  wanting,  not  in  will. 

'*  The  soldier's  life  disgusts  me.  My  only  friend  among  men, 
a  promising  young  man  from  Nancy,  was  killed  at  my  side.  I 
had  many  quarrels,  in  the  wild  life  we  led,  with  my  comrades. 
The  captains  of  the  army  were  unjust  toward  me  ;  I  deserted  to 
the  enemy,  dressed  myself  in  citizens'  clothes,  and  gained  my 
livelihood,  by  teaching  languages,  and  other  pursuits.    My  stay 


170 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


was  not  long  at  any  place.  I  was  not  wanting  in  friends,  but 
they  were  Christians,  and  had  they  known  that  I  was  a  Jew,  even 
the  most  liberal  and  enlightened  among  them,  would  have  been 
overcome  by  a  singular  and  involuntary  disgust.  Therefore,  I 
avoided  forming  intimacies,  which  a  future  separation  would  only 
make  me  regret.  1  feared  friendship,  because  it  could  only  bring 
sorrow  for  me.  I  was  now  forced  to  resign  all  thoughts  of  a  per- 
manent establishment  or  act  of  citizenship  in  any  Christian  city. 
In  some  places,  as  a  Jew,  I  would  not  be  allowed  to  remain  a  day; 
in  others,  I  would  be  allowed  the  greatest  toleration  ;  but  nowhere 
would  a  situation  or  citizen's  rights  be  granted  me.  For  these,  a 
baptismal  certificate  was  requisite,  and  I  had  never  been  baptized. 
Wnat  could  I  say  ? 

"  My  religious  opinions  interfered,  in  a  painful  manner,  with 
the  most  trying  circumstances  of  my  life  and  being.  If  the  bells 
were  ringing  for  church,  and  the  Christians  were  all,  like  one 
family,  flocking  there  ;  I  was  obliged  to  worship  God  in  my  own 
little  room.  Many  censured  me  for  never  going  to  church  ;  others 
regarded  me  as  a  free-thinker,  who  lived  without  religion.  I 
could  not  go  to  church,  for  that  would  have  been  a  deception  : 
neither  could  I  join  the  free-thinkers,  because  I  despised  all  their 
opinions.  I  was  even  oppressed  by  my  better  feelings,  as  well  as 
by  the  position  in  which  I  stood.  For  some  time,  I  entertained 
the  thought  of  joining  a  Jewish  synagogue,  and  becoming  a 
teacher  of  the  truth  to  my  own  people,  in  order  to  raise  them, 
from  their  state  of  mental  slavery,  to  the  dignity  of  human  na- 
ture. But  I  remembered  that  I  was  deficient  in  every  necessary 
requisite.  I  had  forgotten  the  Jewish  German,  knew  little  or  no- 
thing of  the  customary  usages,  or  of  the  Talmud  writings  and 
doctrines.  I  saw  the  impossibility  of  removing  by  mere  argu- 
ments, dictated  by  reason,  the  rust  of  many  thousand  years,  and 
prejudices,  which  had  now  become  sacred  ;  or  of  overcoming  the 
obstinacy  of  poor  ignorant  men,  contracted  in  their  ideas,  and 
who  had  become  what  they  were,  through  the  barbarous  regula- 
tions of  Christian  law-givers.  The  Rabbis  would  have  execrated 
rne  ;  the  Jews  have  expelled  and  stoned  me.  New  religious  par- 
ties have  arisen,  and  are  still  arising  among  Christians  and  Mo- 
hammedans.   Improved  judgment,  the  operation  of  the  climate, 


JONATHAN  FROCK. 


171 


or  particular  inquiry,  tends  to  promote  them.  But  the  Jews  will 
allow  neither  new  sects  nor  schisms.  The  enlightened  Jews  are 
only  what  the  free-thinkers  are  among  the  Christians. 

"  Disowned  by  my  own  brethren,  and  oppressed  by  my  desire 
to  enjoy  my  rights  as  a  man,  among  Europeans,  and  from  my  re- 
spect for  Jesus,  1  would  have  become  a  Christian  and  been  bap- 
tized.  But  besides  not  being  able  to  make  up  my  mind  to  make 
myself  a  show  in  this  solemnity  ;  even  after  my  baptism,  I  should 
be  only  a  baptized  and  converted  Jew,  not  a  Christian,  born  of 
Christian  parents  ;  and  against  this,  every  feeling  within  me  re- 
belled. Much  rather  would  I  be,  and  remain,  an  Israelite  ;  for 
there  was  actually  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of  in  this  name.  Moses 
wras  a  greater  man  than  the  whole  race  of  popes  ;  than  Luther, 
Calvin,  or  Zwingli.  A  Jew  is  very  rarely  baptized  by  Chris- 
tians, from  the  effect  of  mental  conviction,  but  frequently  for  the 
sake  of  profit,  which  causes  the  suspicion  and  contempt,  that  al- 
ways attaches  to  a  baptized  Jew.  An  open  professor  is  worth 
more  than  the  renegade  or  Mameluke. 

"  In  addition  to  these  considerations,  a  more  powerful  reason 
prevented  my  entering  the  Christian  church.  I  was  doubtful  to 
which  I  should  belong.  If  Christ  were  again  to  appear,  would 
he  be  a  Catholic,  a  Lutheran,  or  a  Calvinist  ?  One  church  par- 
ty of  the  Christians  blames  the  other ;  the  last  defends  itself 
against  the  first.  This  is  not  the  effect  of  conviction,  but  is 
caused  by  the  feeling  of  attachment  to  the  faith,  which  is  imbibed 
with  the  mother's  milk. 

"  If  I  had  become  a  Lutheran,  the  Reformed,  or  the  Catholics 
would  have  wished  to  convert  me  ;  had  I  turned  Catholic,  the 
Lutheran  and  Calvinist  would  have  thought  me  in  error.  Each 
church  takes  its  truths  and  dogmas  from  the  same  book,  and 
from  the  same  passages,  which  are  differently  interpreted  by  an- 
other :  a  strong  proof,  that  the  fancies  and  opinions  of  man  are 
substituted  for  God's  words.  They  are  united  only  upon  what 
Christ  himself  has  given.  But  Christ  gave  the  spirit ;  his  fol- 
lowers add  the  dead  letter,  which  is  the  cause  of  the  dispute. 
What  care  I  for  the  letter  ?  the  interpretation  of  things  which 
fail  to  elevate  my  soul  ?  the  acceptance  of  doctrines  which  are 
incomprehensible  ?  the  observance  of  solemnities  which  are  ar- 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


bitrary,  and  are  only  dependent  on  the  degree  of  perception  or 
the  climate  in  which  the  people  live  who  observe  them  ?  Christ 
is  a  teacher  of  heavenly  things;  no  Moses,  no  later  prophet,  no 
rabbi,  no  pope  is  higher.  I  believe  as  he  did,  I  will  live  as  he 
did ;  I  am  his  follower,  his  disciple.  In  this  sense  I  am  a  Chris- 
tian, and  will  remain  one ;  but  I  am  no  Catholic,  Lutheran, 
Zwinglianer,  Calvinist,  Mennonite,  Greek,  Herrnhuter,  Socinian, 
Baptist,  or  Moravian  brother.  And  Christ  was  none  of  these  ; 
according  to  his  own  confession,  he  was  a  Jew  ;  so  am  I.  Christ 
stood  immeasurably  higher  than  Moses ;  I  too,  through  Christ, 
stand  higher  than  Moses.  On  this  account  the  Mosaic  law  has 
lost  its  value  for  me,  as  it  no  longer  takes  its  place  among  nations 
and  states,  and  by  its  duration  stands  in  opposition  to  the  age. 
This,  ye  beloved  ones,  is  my  confession  of  faith.  1  cannot  enter 
your  church  and  become  a  baptized,  still  less  a  converted,  Jew. 
None  of  your  monks,  priests,  preachers,  bishops,  or  general  su- 
perintendents can  convert  me.  I  belong  neither  to  the  English 
nor  evangelical  reformed  churches,  nor  to  a  so-called  commu- 
nity of  brethren.  I  am  in  fact  nothing  but  a  disciple  of  Him, 
whose  disciples  you  all  are,  even  if  you  have  by  heart  the  Atha- 
nasian  or  Augsburg  confession  of  faith.  I  am,  however,  no  disci- 
ple of  your  popes,  of  your  Luther  or  of  your  Zwingli,  because 
I  believe  that  I  know  as  much  as  they,  of  the  glory  of  eternity, 
and  of  the  way  to  seek  a  closer  resemblance  to  God. 

"Judge  me,  now,  ye  loved  ones.  You  cannot  condemn  me, 
without  condemning  yourselves. 

"  Rejected  by  the  people,  to  whom  I  belong  ;  rejected  by  the 
Christians,  on  account  of  my  descent :  among  Jews  and  Chris- 
tians I  am  a  stranger.  I  belong  neither  to  a  domestic  circle,  nor 
to  a  civil  community.  I  am  religious,  yet  am  I  persecuted  by  the 
religious  societies  of  men.  I  fear  to  resign  myself  to  the  delights 
of  friendship,  for  I  know  that  my  friends  would  blush  at  reposing 
confidence  in  a  Jew.  And  could  a  maiden  love  me,  who  must 
become  a  Jew's  wife  ?  Though  I  remain  among  men,  I  conceal 
myself  from  them.  I  am  left  without  a  home,  without  bread, 
without  love,  because  the  prejudices  of  the  world  close  the  door  of 
happiness  to  me. 

"  Till  my  last  breath,  will  I  love  and  pity  Josephine.  Pity, 


JONATHAN  FROCK. 


173 


because  I  am  guiltless  of  her  suffering.  J  avoided  inspiring  her 
with  the  least  sympathy,  or  inclination  for  me.  If  I  have  erred, 
I  have  erred  in  being  too  weak-minded  to  tear  myself  away  from 
her,  from  the  dear  Leonore,  and  the  venerable  father.  Near 
Josephine,  who  is  strong  enough,  or  fixed  enough  in  his  principles, 
to  resist  the  magic  of  her  voice  ?  I  repent  my  fault  bitterly.  I 
was  happy  for  a  moment,  and  now  my  life-long  must  be  unhappy. 
I  fly,  but  with  a  torn,  bleeding  heart.  Farewell. 

"Jonathan  Frock. " 


Through  the  long  winter's  night  did  he  travel,  and  in  a  feverish 
state  of  excitement ;  the  whole  of  next  day  without  stopping,  from 
post  to  post ;  the  second  day,  the  following  night,  until  he  had 
reached  the  place  of  his  destination,  where  he  had  to  arrange  the 
major's  business.  It  appeared  as  if  he  intended  to  kill  himself. 
But  the  exertions  and  fatigue  produced  a  different  effect  upon  him. 
The  pressure  of  business  entirely  prevented  his  giving  himself  up 
to  the  thoughts  of  the  past ;  in  the  bustle  and  confusion  he  felt 
his  grief  less  keenly ;  and  after  some  days  a  feeling  of  deep 
melancholy  only  remained. 

He  could,  therefore,  devote  himself  with  the  more  attention  and 
energy  to  the  affairs  of  Major  Von  Tulpen.  He  visited  the  claim- 
ants of  the  estate  ;  )ft  visited  the  magistrates.  The  right  of  the 
major  was  too  well-founded  not  to  be  easily  proved ;  but  not  so 
decided,  that  it  could  not  afford  material  for  an  expensive  and 
tedious  trial,  which  was  much  more  ardently  desired  by  the 
judges,  officers,  waiters  and  advocates,  than  by  the  major's  good- 
humoured  rival. 

Jonathan's  eloquence  and  pleasing  manners,  won  upon  this  gen- 
tleman so  much,  that  he  was  persuaded  to  accept  a  farm  near  the 
city,  in  lieu  of  prosecuting  his  claim  to  the  estate. 

For  this,  it  was  necessary  to  obtain  the  written  consent  of  the 
major.  Jonathan  had  every  week  sent  him  a  long  account  of  the 
progress  of  affairs.  No  letter  was  more  than  five  days  on  the 
road  :  but  six  and  seven  weeks  passed,  without  his  receiving  an 
answer  from  the  major.  This  gave  the  good  Frock  the  greatest 
anxiety.    He  could  bear  it  no  longer,  and  determined,  that  if 


174 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES 


within  a  fortnight  he  did  not  receive  an  answer  to  the  letter  on  the 
subject  of  giving  up  the  farm,  to  return  to  the  metropolis,  happen 
what  might. 

He  was  at  the  point  of  leaving  when  the  major's  letter  arrived. 
Trembling,  and  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  Frock  broke  the  seal,  and 
kissed  the  characters  traced  by  the  dear  honoured  hand.  The 
letter  was  as  follows  : 

"  Dear  Jonathan  : 

"Thank  God,  we  are  all  in  good  health.  My  Josephine  is 
also  restored  to  me.  I  have  signed  the  papers  concerning  the 
farm,  and  return  them  to  you.  The  story  of  the  inheritance  is 
now  at  an  end.  Write  to  the  agent  on  the  estate,  that  he  must 
have  everything  in  order.  I  will  be  there  at  the  end  of  the 
month,  or  at  the  beginning  of  the  next,  with  my  daughter  and 
Leonore.  Josephine  is  well,  and  intends  entering  a  convent.  I 
know  not  what  she  will  do  there.  She  has  taken  the  idea  in  her 
head,  and  persists  in  it.  We  will  be  in  Arrfeld  on  the  25th  of 
this  month,  and  expect  you  to  meet  us  at  the  inn.  Do  not  fail  to  do 
so,  or  you  will  kill  my  Josephine.  It  is  her  earnest  desire,  that  you 
should  be  there.  And  when  we  leave  for  the  convent,  I  give  you 
my  word  of  honour,  that  I  will  no  longer  detain  you,  if  you  wish 
to  leave  us.  But  if  you  wish  to  stay  with  me,  Jonathan,  then  you 
will  be  the  joy  of  my  old  age.  What  ha#passed  has  been  silly 
enough  ;  so  do  not  fail  to  be  at  Arrfeld  on  the  25th  of  this  month. 
I  have  nothing  more  of  importance  to  say  about  the  estate. 

"  I  remain  your  friend  and  David, 

"  Major  Von  Tulpen." 

On  the  other  side  of  the  paper  Leonore  had  added  the  following 
lines. 

"  Ah !  dear  Herr  Frock,  you  caused  us  a  terrible  night  of  suf- 
fering !  I  wish  I  may  never  live  to  see  such  another ;  but 
Josephine  is  very  well  again.  May  you,  through  the  influence 
of  your  religion,  be  as  quiet  and  composed  as  Josephine  now  is. 
The  great  blessings  of  religion  are  hereby  made  known.  Jo- 
sephine's  only  wish  is  to  see  and  speak  to  you  once  more.  Tn 


JONATHAN  FROCK. 


175 


God's  name !  do  not  disappoint  us,  if  you  still  prize  our  friendship 
and  esteem.  I  have  so  much  more,  oh  !  so  much  more  to  say  to 
you,  but  cannot  now  ;  you  shall  hear  it  all  in  Arrfeld. 

"  Your  faithful  friend, 

"  Leonore  Von  Tulpen." 

This  letter  arrived  so  late,  that  there  was  no  time  for  delay,  if 
Frock  wished  to  reach  Arrfeld  on  the  day  appointed.  Frock, 
with  the  deed  of  the  farm  in  his  hand,  received  the  act  of  renun- 
ciation to  the  estate  from  the  assenting  claimants,  and  the  authority 
of  the  magistrates  in  favour  of  Major  Von  Tulpen's  immediately 
taking  possession  of  the  property.  This  finished,  Frock  hastened 
to  the  appointed  place  of  meeting. 

The  journey  was  as  sad  to  him,  as  the  one  he  had  made  when 
he  left  the  beloved  family.  He  only  knew,  in  j>art,  Josephine's 
suffering,  and  the  melancholy  effect  of  it,  from  her  determination 
to  forsake  the  world.  He  looked  forward  to  a  heart-rending  sepa- 
ration, but  nothing  could  prevent  his  complying  with  Josephine's 
request.  If  he,  too,  could  only  atone  for  her  sufferings  all  his 
life,  so  much  the  better. 

The  evening  had  scarce  closed  in,  when  he  reached  the  inn  in 
Arrfeld.  ■  He  learned,  that  the  major  with  his  family  had  arrived 
in  the  morning,  and  had  proceeded  to  the  priest's,  at  the  Marien- 
kloster.    There  they  awaited  Herr  Frock. 

A  messenger  went  to  inform  the  major  immediately  of  Frock's 
arrival,  and  on  his  return  was  to  let  Frock  know,  whether  he 
should  await  the  major's  arrival,  or  repair  to  the  convent.  More 
than  an  hour  elapsed  ;  Frock  was  in  the  greatest  anxiety.  At 
length  the  messenger  returned,  to  beg  that  he  would  go  to  St. 
Marie's. 

Frock  jumped  into  the  wagon.  How  his  heart  beat,  as,  by  the 
uncertain  light  of  the  moon,  he  beheld  the  far-extending  walls  and 
towers  of  the  convent ;  and  as  he  passed  through  a  long  shady 
avenue  of  tall  elms  and  lindens.  When  the  wagon  stopped 
before  a  house  belonging  to  the  convent,  Frock  got  out ;  at  the 
same  moment,  the  church-bells  began  to  ring  with  a  hollow 
melancholy  sound.    The  major  came  out  of  the  house.    A  ser- 


176 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


vant-woman  brought  a  candle,  followed  by  a  man  carrying  a 
lantern.  The  major  embraced  his  Jonathan  with  much  emotion. 
Frock,  overpowered  by  grief,  could  not  speak. 

"  Is  it  not  true,"  said  the  major,  "  that  you  like  my  Josephine  ?" 
Frock,  unable  to  answer,  pressed  the  major's  hand  in  silence. 
"  Go  before,"  said  the  major  to  the  servant,  "  and  light  the  way. 
Give  me  your  arm,  Jonathan  ;  be  the  support  of  my  old  age. 
We  are  now  going  to  her." 

They  proceeded  together  through  the  empty  court  of  the  con- 
vent,  and  the  cold  silent  cross-ways.  The  dim  light  of  the  even- 
ing tapers  fell  on  the  priest,  who  stood  praying  at  the  altar.  Some 
peasants  were  kneeling  in  the  church.  When  the  major  entered, 
leaning  on  Frock's  arm,  Josephine,  supported  by  Leonore,  came 
toward  them  with  downcast  eyes.  She  held  out  her  trembling 
hand  to  the  agitated  Frock.  They  stood  before  the  priest,  who, 
raising  his  voice,  went  through  the  marriage  ceremony.  Frock 
knew  not  where  he  was  ;  he  was  quite  bewildered. 

When  the  service  was  over,  they  went  out  of  the  church  in  the 
same  order  in  which  they  entered,  excepting  that  the  major's 
married  daughter  (not  he  himself)  took  Frock's  arm.  But  when 
they  reached  the  court,  overcome  by  what  had  passed,  Frock 
fell  at  Josephine's  feet  with  upraised  hands.  All  wept.  Such 
tears  of  joy  had  never  been  shed  in  the  convent  since  its  foun- 
dation. 

Josephine  drew  the  beloved  one  toward  her,  and  whispered, 
"  Thou  art  mine."  In  these  words,  a  new  life  of  blessed  happi- 
ness was  opened  to  the  patient  sufferer,  Jonathan.  He  found 
himself  embraced,  at  the  same  moment,  by  both  the  major  and 
Leonore.  The  gray-haired  priest  stood  near,  unobserved  by  them. 
He  had  been  a  companion  of  the  major's,  in  his  youth,  and  had 
wittingly  given  his  assistance  upon  this  happy  occasion.  He 
accompanied  them  back  to  the  inn,  where  the  major  had  ordered 
the  wedding-dinner  to  be  prepared. 

"  Do  you  think,"  said  the  priest  to  the  delighted  bridegroom, 
"  do  you  think,  you  half-Christians,  you  reason  in  a  more  Chris- 
tian-like manner,  than  we  who,  1  Of  a  truth  know,  that  God  is  no 
respecter  of  persons,  but  in  every  nation,  he  that  feareth  him,  and 


JONATHAN  FROCK. 


177 


worketh  righteousness,  is  accepted  with  him.'  1  Not  every  one 
that  saith  unto  me  Lord,  Lord,  shall  enter  into  the  kingdom  of 
heaven;  but  he  that  doeth  the  will  of  my  Father,  which  is  in 
heaven,  the  same  is  my  disciple.'  1  By  our  fruits  are  we  known.' 
By  these  have  we  known  you.  "  H. 

PART  II.  13 


THE  INVOLUNTARY  JOURNEY. 


THE  INVOLUNTARY  JOURNEY. 


That  the  first  of  the  following  letters  may  be  better  understood, 
I  must  make  known  that  the  writer  and  his  sister  were  invited  by 

the  Countess  Amelia  Von  St  y,  on  the  20th  of  January,  1807, 

to  a  ball  at  her  palace  in  Warsaw.  They  went  thither  and  had 
a  merry  evening,  although  the  joy  that  shone  on  the  faces  of  all, 
came  not  from  the  heart.  For  Warsaw  at  that  time  was  full  of 
alarm  and  of  Frenchmen,  and  a  week  had  scarcely  elapsed  since 
the  transitory  regency  had  been  appointed,  at  whose  head  stood 
the  brave  but  much  injured  Malachosky. 

The  Countess  of  St  y  was  as  beautiful  as  an  angel  that 

night.  A  magnificent  necklace  of  pearls  glittered  around  her 
neck.    It  was  the  New  Year's  present  of  her  uncle. 

The  writer's  sister  had  received  a  similar  New  Year's  gift,  but 
had  neglected  putting  it  on.  The  young  rivals  soon  entered  into 
a  dispute  as  to  which  was  the  most  beautiful  necklace,  each  wish- 
ing that  her  own  should  bear  away  the  triumph.  The  upshot  of 
it  was,  that  both  commanded  the  writer  of  these  letters  to  go  im- 
mediately and  bring  the  missing  necklace.  His  sister  having 
given  him  the  key  of  her  jewelry-box,  he  ordered  his  coach  and 
hastened  home. 


FIRST  LETTER. 

Blonie,  21st  January,  1807. 

My  dear  Countess, 

By  all  the  Graces,  amongst  whom  you  stand  the  first,  I  beg 
that  you  will  not  be  angry  with  me.  Instead  of  bringing  you 
Sophia's  necklace  yesterday,  I  carried  it  to  Blonie.    But  to-day 


182 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


I  return  to  Warsaw,  and  this  evening  I  shall  lay  it  at  your  feet. 
I  make  use  of  a  tedious  hour  to  send  you  my  excuses  by  a  cou- 
rier who  hastens  to  Warsaw.  You  will  certainly  declare  my  of- 
fence unpardonable  in  having  postponed  your  yesterday's  tri- 
umph, and  will  think  it  can  never  be  atoned  for.  But  I  beg  you 
to  have  mercy  enough  to  deign  to  glance  at  these  lines,  and  you 
will  have  compassion  on  the  offender,  who  only  sinned  toward 
you,  for  friendship's  sake. 

Yesterday  I  had  put  up  Sophia's  necklace,  and  was  on  the  point 
of  stepping  into  the  carriage  to  return  to  you,  at  the  ball  to  which 
your  beauty  gave  the  greatest  charm,  when  my  servant  announ- 
ced a  French  officer.  1  was  obliged  to  receive  him.  He  brought 
me  a  letter.  Only  think,  they  were  the  first  lines  I  had  received 
for  twelve  years  from  the  only  dear  friend  of  my  youth,  the  noble 

Felix  L  y,  who  has  during  that  time  been  in  all  Napoleon's 

campaigns,  and  now  stands  at  the  head  of  the  Polish  regiment. 
He  wrote  me  but  a  few  words :  "  I  have  just  arrived  at  Blonie, 
and  learn,  my  dear  Joseph,  that  thou  yet  livest.  My  hopes  of 
embracing  thee  in  Warsaw  are  frustrated,  now  that  I  stand  al- 
most before  the  gates  of  the  dear  city.  I  come  from  Posa,  and 
here  I  find  a  courier  from  the  army  with  commands  to  hasten  im- 
mediately to  Thorn.  If  it  is  possible,  come  immediately  to  Blonie, 
where  I  shall  rest  at  least  several  hours.  Who  knows  whether 
we  shall  ever  approach  each  other  again  so  nearly  in  this  world. 
We  have  so  much  to  say  to  each  other  !  Early  in  the  morning 
[  shall  travel  onward." 

Will  you  now  blame  me,  my  dear  Countess,  for  taking  advan- 
tage of  the  important  moment?  To  think  of  seeing  a  dear  friend 
from  whom  I  had  been  so  long  separated  !  I  begged  the  officer  to 
take  a  seat  in  my  carriage,  letting  his  horses  follow.  I  then 
threw  my  cloak  around  me,  and  thus,  instead  of  going  to  the  tem- 
ple of  love,  I  went  to  the  feast  of  friendship. 

After  a  shocking  ride,  for  the  road  was  wretched  and  the  night 
pitch-dark,  I  arrived  at  Blonie,  and  my  Felix  was  already  at 
Sochazew,  where  some  French  generals  were  awaiting  him.  But 
he  left  a  note  for  me,  begging  that  I  would  follow  him  to  Socha- 
zew, where  he  would  wait  for  me,  at  all  events.  Now  that  I  have 
come  thus  far,  for  his  sake,  I  will  even  go  a  few  miles  further. 


THE  INVOLUNTARY  JOURNEY. 


183 


But  everything  goes  wrong.  One  of  my  horses  was  lamed  last 
night,  and  I  must  take  the  post,  and  I  must  wait  till  the  postman 
finds  horses,  for  his  are  all  in  use  now.  But  they  give  me  hope 
of  departing  in  one  hour.  Farewell,  lovely  one.  This  evening 
I  shall  kiss  your  hands.  Your  true 

Count  of  W. 


SECOND  LETTER. 

Kulno,  January  23d. 

In  truth,  my  most  gracious,  you  will  not  be  less  astonished  on 
opening  this  letter,  to  find  that  I  write  from  Kutno,  than  I  am  as- 
tonished at  being  here.  Fate  will  make  me  a  liar  towards  you, 
and  I  am  inconsolable.  What  will  you  think  of  me  ?  And  yet 
I  am  the  most  innocent  man  under  the  sun. 

The  only  thing  in  my  adventure  that  pleases  me  is,  that  hap- 
pily I  overtook  Felix  at  Sochazew.  We  embraced  each  other 
with  mute  ardour ;  an  overwhelming  sweet  sorrow  suddenly 
seized  us ;  and  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  in  another  world,  I  again 
held  to  my  heart  a  loved-one  who  had  long  since  died. 

You  must  have  known  him.  The  Fire-brains  has  become 
quite  sedate.  Egyptian  and  Spanish  suns  have  browned  his  face 
finely,  and  the  slash  on  the  forehead,  over  the  left  eye,  that  he 
carried  away  from  a  battle,  to  the  honour  of  a  Calabrian  sword, 
is  so  becoming,  that  he  would  make  me  jealous,  were  I  to  know- 
that  he  were  quartered  near  you  at  Warsaw. 

I  intend  when  I  am  with  you  to  relate  to  you  the  whole  story 
of  his  military  expeditions,  and  that  will  be  day  after  to-morrow. 
Heavens,  how  men  are  thrown  about  to  all  corners  of  the  earth 
in  these  days  !  It  is  the  general  wandering  time  of  nations,  and 
no  one  can  say  whether  he  shall  eat  his  last  mouthful  in  Europe 
or  America,  Asia  or  Africa.  Felix  was  attached  to  the  general's 
staff  for  a  long  time,  but  now  he  commands  his  own  regiment. 
He  believes  that  he  is  destined  to  the  corps  of  General  Lannes,  and 
asserts  that  Napoleon  will  be  in  St.  Petersburg  next  summer,  par- 


184 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


ticularly  now  that  the  Turks  have  shown  themselves  by  no  means 
indifferent,  and  have  declared  war.  Thus  much  is  certain,  that 
the  Russian  ambassador  has  left  Constantinople.  The  French 
generals  that  Felix  found  in  Sochazew  assured  him  that  since  the 
battle  at  Pultusk  and  Golomyn,  the  French  arms  had  been  mas- 
ters in  a  far  bloodier  day  at  Ostralenska. 

But  enough  of  politics.  You  will  be  much  more  curious  to 
know  how,  instead  of  being  in  Warsaw,  I  have  finally  arrived 
in  this  most  pitiful  little  city  ?  Only  listen.  He  who  has  felt 
the  damage,  must  not  mind  the  ridicule.  You  will  laugh  heartily, 
and  nothing  will  remain  for  me  to  do  but  to  laugh  also ;  notwith- 
standing that  1  have  the  greatest  inclination  to  doubt  whether  I 
am  not  even  now  with  you. 

We  remained  together  in  Sochazew  till  late  in  the  evening,  be- 
fore we  separated  for  heaven  knows  how  long  !  As  I  could  not 
count  upon  obtaining  post-horses  in  a  short  time,  and  as  I  wished 
to  return  immediately  to  Warsaw,  notwithstanding  my  fatigue, 
that  I  might  make  my  atonement  with  you,  Felix  was  kind  enough 
to  use  his  military  power  to  procure  me  a  conveyance  that  would 
take  me  to  Blonie.  A  chaise  appeared,  which  was  harnessed  to 
three  fine  nags.  I  again  pressed  the  noble  Felix  to  my  heart ;  he 
rode  off,  and  I  soon  did  the  same. 

Being  wearied  with  the  journey  of  the  night  before,  in  which 
I  had  not  closed  an  eye,  and  also  with  the  affairs  of  the  day,  I 
protected  myself  from  the  snow-storm  by  drawing  the  curtains  of 
the  chaise.  I  then  wrapped  my  cloak  about  me,  squeezed  my- 
self into  a  corner  of  the  carriage,  and  went  to  sleep,  in  spite  of 
its  jolting.  It  was  a  happy  thought  of  mine,  that  of  putting  on  a 
greatcoat  over  my  ball  dress.  My  feet,  being  only  covered  with 
silk  stockings  and  slippers,  were  sheltered  by  a  whole  load  of 
hay. 

I  slept  uneasily,  but  my  dreams  were  pleasant,  for  they  were 
of  you.  Oh  how  lovely,  how  kind  the  God  of  Fancy  made  you! 
What  blessed  words  did  I  read  in  your  eyes  !  My  soul  was  with 
yours,  I  knew  what  you  felt,  and  yet  I  felt  unspeakably  more 
than  you.  Oh,  that  it  should  only  be  a  dream.  Did  you  but 
know,  enchanting  Amelia,  what  a  heaven  you  have  to  dispense, 


THE  INVOLUNTARY  JOURNEY. 


185 


you  would  not  act  otherwise  in  reality  than  you  did  in  my 
dreams  I 

No  matter  how  often  I  was  startled  from  my  Elysium,  by  the 
merciless  blows  on  my  head  or  on  my  ribs,  yet  1  always  shut  my 
heavy  eyes  properly,  and  it  was  always  you  who  led  me  back 
again  to  that  lost  Elysium.  As  soon  as  I  had  aroused  myself 
from  this  enchanting  sleep,  I  remarked  with  affright  that  it  was 
already  morning,  and  1  had  counted  upon  being  in  Blonie  shortly 
after  midnight.  I  tore  back  the  curtains  of  the  chaise,  and  saw 
that  we  were  entering  a  city,  that  I  had  not  had  the  honour  of 
seeing  before. 

"  Where  are  we  ?"  I  asked  the  driver. 

"  In  Kutno  !"  said  the  fellow  drily,  and  kept  on  his  way. 

"  In  Kutno  ?"  I  exclaimed,  out  of  my  senses  with  rage.  "  Does 
the  evil  one  possess  you  to  drag  me  to  Kutno  ?  I  will  go  to  Blo- 
nie, to  Blonie  !" 

The  villain  behaved  as  if  he  had  no  ears,  and  kept  on,  stopping 
finally  at  an  inn.  I  got  out,  it  is  true,  for  my  whole  body  was 
stiff ;  but  I  felt  the  greatest  temptation  to  cudgel  the  rascal  in  the 
street. 

He  maintained,  in  the  meantime,  that  the  French  officer  who 
ordered  him  to  go  had  named  Kutno  to  him ;  at  least  he  had  un- 
derstood it  so.  On  this  he  insisted,  and  whipping  his  tired  horses, 
he  hurried  away. 

I  ascertained  from  the  innkeeper  that  my  wicked  coachman 
had  been  absent  from  Kutno,  where  he  lived,  for  eight  days,  upon 
requisition  probably,  (it  being  the  custom  with  the  military  to 
drive  about  the  world  dealing  blows  and  hunger),  and  he  had 
now  probably  taken  advantage  of  the  night,  to  come  home  with 
his  wagon,  particularly  as  he  saw  that  I  was  a  Pole,  and  neither 
an  officer  nor  a  Frenchman. 

This  information,  which  my  knowing  host  gave  me  so  candidly, 
might  be  true,  but  it  did  me  no  good.  I  now  sat  in  Kutno,  and 
was  not  in  Warsaw,  not  even  in  Blonie.  The  innkeeper  com- 
forted me  with  a  miserable  breakfast,  and  with  the  hope  that  an 
opportunity  would  be  found  to  take  me  back  again  to  Sochazew. 
He  gave  himself  a  great  deal  of  trouble  to  procure  me  a  wagon. 
I  myself  ran  over  the  miry  little  city  in  my  silk  stockings,  and 


186 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


had  my  labour  for  my  pains.  Every  thing  had  been  seized,  for 
the  service  of  the  army.  I  even  humbled  myself  so  much  as  to 
seek  out  the  rascal  who  had  brought  me  to  Kutno.  In  my  dis- 
tress I  forgave  him  all  his  sins,  and  holding  up  a  purse,  begged 
him  to  take  me  back  to  Sochazew.  But  he  declared  that  his 
horses  and  carriage  had  been  taken  from  him  that  same  morning. 
On  the  contrary,  my  sagacious  host  thought  that  the  wicked 
knave  had  hid  his  carriage  in  some  safe  place,  so  that  it  should 
not  be  put  in  requisition  again. 

To-day,  however,  I  struck  a  bargain  with  a  French  engineer 
officer,  who  is  quartered  on  my  host.  He  travels  to  Kladova;  I 
accompany  him  there,  and  then  he  gives  me  the  wagon,  with  the 
power  of  using  it  as  a  Requisition  wagon  as  far  as  Sochazew,  and 
even  to  Blonie  or  Warsaw,  if  I  will.  To  make  the  matter  more 
certain,  I  have  not  only  acquainted  the  driver  with  our  contract, 
but  also  that  I  shall  not  use  it  as  a  Requisition  wagon,  but  shall 
pay  him  well  as  far  as  I  use  it.  So,  in  this  worst  of  weathers,  I 
must  first  go  to  Kladova,  then  be  brought  back  to  Kutno  to  get  a 
carriage.  For  if  I  do  not  accompany  the  carriage  to  Kladova,  I 
run  the  danger  of  losing  it  altogether. 

The  misery  in  this  land  is  indescribable.  Our  deliverers  make 
us  pay  dear  for  our  enfranchisement.  Money  will  hardly  find  a 
man  bread. 

But  I  must  close,  else  I  shall  lose  the  current  post.  Oh,  how  I 
envy  this  happy  sheet,  that  will  be  within  your  room  two  days 
sooner  than  I  can !  At  the  same  time  with  this  letter,  I  send  one 
to  my  sister,  to  whom  I  wrote  yesterday.  Calm  the  dear  girl,  and 
say  to  her  that,  positively,  I  shall  be  in  Warsaw  day  after  to- 
morrow. 

Adieu  !  I  am  almost  dying  with  impatience  to  see  you  again. 
More  than  once  yesterday,  I  was  on  the  point  of  running  back  to 
Warsaw,  through  snow  and  mud,  in  my  dancing  shoes.  But  my 
Reason  was  kind  enough  to  make  my  Home-sickness  the  apposite 
remark  that  I  should  have  eighteen  or  nineteen  miles  to  run.* 

Fare  you  well  !  May  you  feel  the  warm  kiss  that  I  spiritually 
press  upon  your  hand  ! 

*  It  must  be  remembered  that  these  were  German  miles. 


THE  INVOLUNTARY  JOURNEY. 


187 


THIRD  LETTER. 

Posen,  January  26th. 

I  am  certainly  bewitched.  I  now  believe  in  all  possible  en- 
chantments, whereas  I  have  never  believed  in  any  but  that  of 
your  charms,  until  now.  Now,  I  doubt  no  longer  the  power  of 
hobgoblins  and  of  malicious  spirits.  To-day  I  would,  should  have 
been  in  Warsaw,  in  your  boudoir,  and  at  the  feet  of  you  whom  I 
adore.  But  misfortunes  multiply  and  bring  me  to  Posen,  to  which, 
I  may  add,  that  I  made  my  entrance  as  a  prisoner.  Do  not  be 
frightened.    I  stand  already  on  my  free  feet. 

I  feel  as  one  does  in  the  nightmare.  The  faster  I  would  go 
forwards,  the  farther  I  find  myself  behind.  Since  man  was  born, 
has  a  child  of  man  ever  had  the  unlucky  chance,  as  I  have,  of 
leaving  a  ball  for  a  pearl  necklace,  and  then  be  driven  out  forty 
miles  into  the  wide  world  \  All  my  longings,  my  impatience,  my 
eagerness,  my  wisdom,  my  foresight,  have  been  of  no  use  to  me, 
but  to  bring  me  backwards,  still  further  backwards ;  as  the  storm 
at  sea  drives  the  most  skilful  and  active  sailor  far  from  the  port 
for  which  he  strives. 

Day  before  yesterday,  the  engineer  and  I  rode  together  to 
Kladova,  as  we  had  proposed.  In  this  miserable  nest  there  was 
a  sort  ,  of  governor  to  whom  the  engineer  announced  himself  im- 
mediately after  his  arrival.  There  he  found  orders  to  go  to 
Sempolno  without  delay.  He  came  back  and  told  me  the  misfor- 
tune, shrugging  his  shoulders,  and  with  a  million  of  regrets  at  not 
being  able  to  keep  his  word  ;  but  the  service  must  have  precedence 
over  everything  else.  I  became  almost  speechless  with  horror. 
I  begged,  raved,  placed  my  distress  before  him — all  was  in 
vain.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  would  go  to  Sempolno. 
While  the  groom  was  feeding  the  horses,  the  engineer  ran  to  the 
governor,  and,  accompanied  by  soldiers,  visited  stalls  and  stables, 
to  procure  another  conveyance.  I  followed  him,  but  we  could 
find  nothing  but  a  large  dirt  cart. 

To  keep  possession  of  my  wagon,  I  resolved  to  travel  in  it  my- 
self to  Sempolno,  where  I  had  the  hope  of  obtaining,  far  more 


188 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


easily,  another  relay  of  horses,  and  more  endurable  inns,  than  in 
the  wretched,  dirty  town  of  Kladova.  The  engineer  approved 
of  my  determination.  But  I  was  out  of  temper,  and  on  the  jour- 
ney we  were  neither  of  us  so  friendly  and  talkative  as  before. 
Yes,  there  were  even  disagreeable  altercations,  and  in  Sempolno 
we  coldly  separated  from  each  other. 

I  was  so  much  the  more  affectionate  toward  my  coachman. 
We  concluded  to  stay  over  night  in  order  to  let  the  horses  rest, 
and  to  journey  back  at  the  very  earliest  moment  the  next  day. 
My  generosity  increased,  and  as  a  reward,  I  sat  at  break  of  day 
in  the  wagon  with  my  face  towards  Warsaw. 

We  were  scarcely  half  an  hour's  ride  from  Sempolno,  when  we 
saw  three  French  hunters  running  after  us  at  full  speed.  My 
driver,  full  of  apprehensions  and  forebodings,  whipped  his  horses 
with  all  his  strength.  I  thought  his  distress  was  as  superfluous, 
as  his  haste  was  fruitless.  The  French  soon  reached  us,  ordered 
us  to  stop,  and  cursed  the  driver,  who,  as  they  said,  had  stolen 
away  from  the  Requisition  without  due  permission.  They  com- 
manded him  to  turn  back,  and  even  talked  of  shooting.  My 
Phaeton  did  not  comprehend  a  word,  but  he  understood  the  pan- 
tomime of  the  "  Conquerors  of  the  World,"  and  cast  a  piteous 
glance  on  me.  I  now  interfered.  This  the  fellows  seemed  to 
have  expected,  and  turning  to  me,  they  inquired  with  much 
politeness  who  I  was  1  and  then  inquired  for  my  passport.  I  had 
none.  In  the  most  agreeable  phrases,  they  remarked  that  I  was 
a  suspicious  person,  and  hoped  1  would  have  the  goodness  to 
make  myself  known  to  the  governor  of  the  city. 

The  polite  clowns,  who  now  turned  the  wagon  and  horses 
about,  without  further  ceremony,  were,  without  doubt,  fully  con- 
vinced of  my  innocence.  The  governor,  as  soon  as  he  under- 
stood that  I  had  procured  one  of  the  Requisition  carriages  in 
a  deceitful  manner,  and  had  not  even  a  passport  for  myself;  first, 
declared  me  a  suspicious  person  ;  secondly,  an  enemy  of  Napo- 
leon ;  and  thirdly,  a  prisoner.  For  my  consolation,  the  objections 
that  I  made  to  this,  helped  to  send  me  to  head-quarters  in  order  to 
give  my  justification  ;  and  two  hours  afterwards  I  had  the  honour 
of  going  to  Posen,  in  the  company  of  a  corporal  and  a  lieutenant, 
hough  not  by  my  wish  did  they  go  thither,  or  rather,  ride. 


THE  INVOLUNTARY  JOURNEY. 


189 


So  long  as  we  suffer  from  the  little  annoyances  and  unexpected 
provocations  of  fate,  we  easily  lose  patience,  probably  because  we 
always  hope  to  overcome  them  ;  but  when  misery  comes  too  pal- 
pably, we  are  merry  again,  for  man,  when  he  sees  himself  con- 
quered, and  feels  that  all  resistance  is  vain,  turns  to  his  native 
pride,  and  while  he  fears  naught,  despises  all  things. 

Tii us  the  vexations  of  the  preceding  days  made  me  as  angry 
then,  as  it  now  appears  amusing  to  me  to  go  as  a  prisoner  (in  ball 
dress,  it  is  true,)  to  Posen,  and  be  kicked  on  to  the  very  borders 
of  Poland.  In  fact,  my  misfortune  is  not  so  very  great,  and  I  am 
certain  that  you  will  laugh  as  heartily  over  my  adventures  as  I 
do  myself.  I  have  nothing  to  regret,  my  amiable  Countess,  but 
the  loss  of  the  moments  that  I  might  live  in  your  presence.  You 
now  see  what  a  misfortune  can  be  brought  about  through  a  strife 
between  two  beautiful  women.  Sophia's  necklace  must  bear  all 
the  blame,  and  it  yet  drives  about  the  world  with  me. 

I  am  now  truly  happy  to  be  in  Posen.  I  was  very  kindly 
received  at  head-quarters.  They  made  many  excuses  on  the 
score  of  strictness  in  the  service,  and  could  not  refrain  from 
laughing  at  the  merciless  caprice  of  destiny  which  had  brought 
me,  in  the  midst  of  winter,  from  a  ball-room  in  the  Capital,  to  the 
tumult  of  war  on  the  borders.  My  first  business  here  is  to  equip 
myself  anew,  for  I  look  wretchedly.  I  shall  no  longer  rely  upon 
a  Requisition  coach,  for  I  have  bought  myself  a  fine  riding  horse 
that  is  to  carry  me  back  to  you.  I  am  having  a  warm  travelling 
coat  made,  whose  military  cut  will  produce  a  sensation  among 
the  commanding  corporals  of  the  World-Conquerors.  And  I  have 
also  a  passport,  by  means  of  which  I  shall  reach  your  ante- 
chamber without  hindrance. 

Nothing  keeps  me  now  from  flying  to  your  feet,  but  the  tailor 
and  shoemaker.  I  cannot  come  away  before  day  after  to-morrow, 
that  I  see.  We  poor  mortals  are  most  dependant  in  the  smallest 
matters. 

Time  is  tediously  long  to  me,  and  I  have  already  had  quite 
enough  of  the  warlike  tumult  that  reigns  here,  the  hundreds  of 
different  uniforms,  and  the  marching  backwards  and  forwards  of 
troops.  It  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable  contradictions  in  enig- 
matical mankind,  that  the  whole  world  dreads  war  as  the  greatest 


190 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


trouble  of  life,  the  world  detests  toil,  and  fears  death  ;  and  yet 
gives  itself  willingly  in  a  thousand  ways  to  war,  toil,  and  death. 

My  only  enjoyment  is  in  thinking  of  you,  in  conversing  with 
you,  unfortunately  in  thought  alone !  To  admire  you  now  in  the 
dance,  now  at  the  piano,  now  at  the  toilet,  now  in  the  charming 
negligence  of  domestic  life,  now  as  the  queen  of  beauty  in  that 
enchantment  which  nature  and  art  shed  around  you. 

Postscript  of  the  28th  of  January. — I  could  not  send  this  letter 
to  the  post  till  to-day.  I  am  ready  to  travel,  and  early  to-morrow 
I  take  myself  away.  I  travel  in  the  company  of  several  Polish 
and  French  officers  who  are  well  known  to  me.  Say  to  my  sister 
that  I  shall  certainly  arrive  in  Warsaw  on  Tuesday. 


FOURTH  LETTER. 

Magdeburg,  April  2nd. 

Heaven  knows,  my  dear  Countess,  whether  you  have  received 
the  letter  that  I  scribbled  to  you  with  a  pencil  from  Dresden  ;  and 
heaven  knows  whether  you  will  ever  receive  these  lines !  I  will 
therefore  repeat  in  few  words  what  I  wrote  from  Dresden,  and 
renew  my  request,  that  you  use  all  your  influence,  combined  with 
that  of  my  relations  with  our  government,  and  also  with  the 
French  authorities,  that  I  may  receive  my  freedom. 

I  have  already  made  known  to  you  that  when  some  miles  from 
Posen,  between  Schwersens  and  Kostrzyn,  we  were  very  unex- 
pectedly attacked  by  a  heavy  body  of  Prussians,  surrounded  and 
made  prisoners.  Of  the  Frenchmen  in  whose  company  I  was 
riding,  one  officer  and  one  common  soldier  lost  their  lives.  We 
were  all  plundered,  and  I  only  saved  myself  from  ill-treatment, 
by  saying  to  the  Prussian  commander  in  the  German  language, 
that  I  was  no  soldier,  but  merely  a  travelling  citizen  who  had 
been  thrown  among  the  French  by  chance.  My  passport,  which 
confirmed  my  declarations,  and  the  announcement  which  I  wisely 
made  in  my  trepidation,  that  far  from  making  one  of  the  French 
party,  I  was  a  true  Prussian  subject,  and  longed  for  nothing  more 


THE  INVOLUNTARY  JOURNEY. 


191 


than  the  emancipation  of  Poland  from  the  French  deluge,  did  me 
great  service. 

The  Prussian  officer  was  a  humane  man.  When  I  told  him,  in 
answer  to  his  questions  concerning  the  number  of  troops  in  Posen, 
that  without  doubt  several  regiments  would  that  same  day  take 
the  road  to  Warsaw  :  he  determined  immediately  to  retire  into  Si- 
lesia, but  signified  to  me  that  he  could  not  set  me  free  that  mo- 
ment, because  his  own  position  forbade  it. 

Without  being  treated  as  a  prisoner,  yet  I  was  the  same  as  a 
prisoner.  After  several  days'  travel  on  miserable  roads,  we  arrived 
in  Silesia  by  passing  over  the  Warta,  half  starved,  and  half  fro- 
zen. Neither  complaining  nor  laughing  did  me  any  good.  I  hid 
Sophia's  necklace  as  cautiously  as  I  could,  together  with  my  little 
money,  for  I  much  distrusted  the  fortunes  of  war;  and  I  did 
wisely.  Our  commander,  who  bore  the  title  of  Major,  claimed 
me  on  the  following  day  to  serve  as  a  true  Prussian  subject  under 
the  banner  of  the  king.  It  was  impossible  for  me  to  reject  this 
honourable  offer,  without  either  injuring  my  character,  or  having 
my  patriotism  suspected.  I  therefore  did  the  service  of  an  Adju- 
tant, in  the  character  of  a  Lieutenant,  longing  with  impatience 
for  a  convenient  opportunity  to  get  rid  of  it.  The  deeper  we 
penetrated  into  Silesia,  the  lower  my  courage  sunk. 

We  suffered  unspeakably  from  frost,  snow,  and  want  of  provi- 
sion. Wherever  we  went  we  were  obliged  to  take  what  we 
needed  by  force.  Our  prisoners  of  war,  which  were  still  driving 
about  with  us,  were  the  most  to  be  pitied.  Notwithstanding  this, 
the  Poles,  whose  hard  fate  I  most  wished  to  relieve,  declined  my 
attentions,  proudly  and  indignantly.  I  read  in  the  eyes  of  my 
countrymen,  that  they  took  me  for  a  betrayer,  and  this  reproach 
was  more  painful  to  me  than  all  the  other  miseries.  I  also  felt 
soon  enough  the  effects  of  their  hate. 

The  Major  turned  his  troops  towards  Golgau,  but  we  had  not 
reached  the  place,  when  one  morning,  as  our  companies  were  taking 
their  stand  for  marching  out  cf  a  village,  some  French  hussars 
rode  up.  They  started  at  seeing  us,  and  quickly  retreated.  As 
we  marched  out  of  the  village,  we  were  attacked  and  surrounded 
by  a  squadron  of  light  French  cavalry.  This  gave  our  com- 
mander no  fear,  but  we  were  soon  encompassed  by  several  com- 


192 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


panics  of  infantry.  We  had  fallen  into  a  column  of  the  Vendeean 
body  of  the  army,  and  our  bravery  was  useless.  The  Prussians 
fought  with  unexampled  courage,  and  even  won  two  of  the  field 
pieces  with  which  we  had  been  shot  at.  Notwithstanding,  the 
end  of  the  play  was  that  we  were  beaten,  and  forced  by  their  su- 
perior power  to  surrender.  On  our  side,  we  had  several  killed 
and  many  wounded. 

None  were  so  happy  as  the  French  and  Polish  prisoners  who 
had  been  liberated  by  the  fight.  The  Poles  immediately  pointed 
me  out  to  the  French  General,  as  a  renegade  Pole  and  an  enemy 
to  the  French,  who  had  betrayed  them  into  the  hands  of  the 
Prussians,  into  whose  service  I  immediately  went.  As  the  Prus- 
sian Major  named  me  as  his  Lieutenant  in  counting  out  the  pris- 
oners to  the  victors,  and  called  me  a  volunteer,  he  did  not  aid  me 
in  my  justification.  The  passport  from  Posen  only  added  to  my 
guilt,  and  my  horse,  watch,  and  money  were  good  booty  for  the 
World-Conquerors.  I  was  obliged  to  wade  through  snow  and  mire, 
on  foot,  with  the  other  prisoners,  by  the  way  of  Liegnitz  to 
Dresden. 

Here  I  wrote  to  you  of  my  misfortune.  In  Dresden  we  rested 
several  days,  and  then,  with  a  number  of  other  prisoners,  we  came 
through  Leipzig  here  to  Magdeburg.  It  is  now  eight  days  that  I 
have  been  in  this  fortress.  The  inhabitants  show  much  pity  and 
kindness  towards  us,  at  the  same  time  that  they  are  to  be  pitied  in 
the  highest  degree  themselves.  In  no  place  have  I  seen  the  peo- 
ple so  cast  down  as  in  this  city.  They  all  detest  the  French,  the 
citizens  adhere  with  ardour  to  their  unfortunate  king,  and  they  do 
not  give  up  the  hope  of  yet  seeing  the  Prussian  Eagle  upon  their 
ramparts. 

As  far  as  I  can  see,  unless  my  cause  is  pursued  in  Warsaw 
with  untiring  zeal,  I  must  remain  a  prisoner  till  the  end  of  the 
war.  My  well-hidden  store  of  money  begins  to  melt  down.  At 
all  events,  I  beg  of  my  dear  sister,  in  the  enclosed  note,  to  send 
me  a  remittance  to  the  subjoined  address. 

The  Governor  is  an  obliging  man.  I  had  an  opportunity  of 
telling  him  my  confounded  adventures  from  beginning  to  end. 
He  found  them  so  curious  that  he  laughed  continually,  and  would 
scarcely  believe  me.    He  is  personally  well  acquainted  with  my 


THE  INVOLUNTARY  JOURNEY. 


193 


friend  Felix.  As  to  giving  me  my  freedom,  that,  he  says,  is  quite 
out  of  his  power,  and  refers  me  to  bitter  patience.  In  the  mean 
time,  he  has  told  me  to  forward  a  letter  to  Felix,  as  well  as  this 
letter  to  you. 

This  joke  of  fate  is  almost  too  harsh  to  be  amusing,  but  my  de- 
spair would  be  useless.  I  am  therefore  as  merry  as  1  can  be, 
under  the  circumstances,  and  my  health  is  inexhaustible.  So  you 
must  be  quiet  on  my  account,  and  comfort  my  good  Sophia.  I 
shall  now  count  the  days,  the  hours,  the  minutes,  till  I  receive  an 
answer  from  you.  When  I  see  a  line  from  you,  it  will  seem  as 
if  I  saw  yourself,  &c. 


FIFTH  LETTER. 

Nancy,  May  20th. 
Joy  !  my  affairs  are  going  on  excellently.  My  magical  star, 
or  rather  my  evil  star,  I  believe  will  finally  take  me  unexpectedly 
to  Paris,  to  Lisbon,  St.  Domingo,  Otaheite,  the  Tropics,  the  Es- 
quimaux, the  Hottentots,  over  Asia,  to  the  small-footed  Chinese, 
past  the  pious  children,  of  the  Bramah's,  and  through  the  Persian 
gardens  back  to  Warsaw. — I  have  no  doubt  about  the  matter; 
my  affairs  are  going  on  excellently  well,  notwithstanding  I  always 
wished  that  they  would  come  to  a  stand.  I  am  already  in  France. 
It  is  not  farther  to  Lisbon  than  to  \YTarsaw,  and  if  I  am  once  in 
Lisbon,  what  is  it  to  me  whether  I  go  to  you  through  Asia  or  Eu- 
rope ? 

But  neither  the  German  maidens  (and  yet  there  are  some 
lovely  faces  among  them),  nor  the  French  ladies,  nor  the  Spanish, 
nor  the  voluptuous  beauties  of  the  Friendly  Islands,  can  make 
me  faithless  to  you.  So  far  as  I  have  already  gone,  I  have  no- 
where seen  so  many  charms,  such  grace  and  dignity,  as  I  left  at 
the  ball  at  Warsaw.    Ah  !  if  I  had  but  one  line  from  you ! 

Who  knows  but  that  letters  for  me  are  lying  now  in  Magde- 
burg, both  from  you  and  Sophia  ?  And  who  knows  in  Magde- 
burg where  I  am  stuck  ?    After  my  letter  was  despatched  to  you, 

FAST  II.  14 


194 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


I  was  taken  away  with  a  great  multitude  of  other  prisoners  of 
war.  It  was  said  that  we  were  to  go  to  Mayence  ;  in  Mayence 
we  were  told  that  Lyons  was  our  destination ;  and  when  we  are  in 
Lyons,  what  will  then  be  our  destination  ? 

The  host  of  prisoners  with  whom  I  came  over  the  Rhine  is 
scattered  into  a  hundred  portions.  They  go  to  all  parts  of  the 
world.  As  I  said  before,  I  do  not  now  doubt  a  moment  but  that  I 
must  go  round  the  world.  Were  I  only  in  Thibet  with  the  Lama, 
or  with  the  Prophet  at  Mecca,  or  on  the  Caspian  Sea,  I  would 
make  a  jubilee,  for  I  should  then  be  returning  to  you. 

What  miserable  creatures  we  are !  We  are  like  ants,  whose 
houses  are  destroyed  by  the  uncertain  tread  of  a  horse  ;  like  in- 
sects, which  the  storm-wind  carries  away,  and  then  deposites  in 
distant  lands.    Why  am  I  in  Nancy  ?    What  is  the  war  to  me  ? 

I  send  you  these  lines,  that  you  may  not  fear,  at  least  for  my 
life.  Good  heavens  !  It  seems  as  though  I  had  been  absent  from 
you  twenty  years.  How  many  countries,  mountains,  streams, 
nations,  lie  between  us !  No  one  can  be  certain  that  I  shall  not 
yet  have  the  honour  of  being  your  Antipode.  Ah,  my  charming 
Antipode,  what  would  then  become  of  Life  ?  How  easily  you 
might  die  under  my  feet,  without  my  knowing  a  word  about  the 
matter. — If  you  lived  for  another,  would  you  not  be  dead  for  me  ? 
I  say  to  myself,  I  have  never  yet  read  of  two  Antipodes  loving  each 
other  faithfully. 

Since  we  captured  heroes  wander  on  this  side  of  the  Rhine, 
they  allow  us  many  more  liberties  than  on  German  soil.  I  can 
go  where  I  will,  if  I  only  show  myself  to  the  commander  at  the 
proper  hour.  I  can  live,  eat,  and  drink  as  suits  my  pleasure, 
with  my  own  money — that  is  understood. 

When  I  rode  to  your  ball  would  I  had  but  takt; out  more  than 
the  usual  amount  of  gambling  money,  such  as  I  have  spent — I  be- 
lieve, for  these  twenty  years  ! 

Next  month  I  shall  write  to  you  again,  and  it  shall  be  from  the 
place  I  hope  to  keep  within  till  peace,  and  where  I  can  await  an- 
swers  from  Warsaw.  But  probably,  my  beautiful  Antipode,  I 
shall  send  you  my  first  letter  from  the  island  of  Teneriffe  or  Mad- 
agascar.  Adieu. 


THE  INVOLUNTARY  JOURNEY. 


195 


SIXTH  LETTER. 

Aix,  June  21th. 

Finally  I  have  reached  my  goal.  I  am  destined  to  remain 
here,  till  an  exchange  of  prisoners,  or  until  peace  is  announced. 
This  information  has  been  more  painful  to  me,  than  I  had  at  first 
expected.  To  be  hustled  from  Warsaw  to  the  Spanish  borders 
is  truly  no  small  matter.  I  shall  therefore  neither  see  Otaheite 
nor  the  East  Indies,  notwithstanding  there  is  in  all  probability 
much  more  to  see  there  than  in  these  deserts,  on  the  Adour. 

All  the  French  that  I  have  seen  in  Poland  cursed  my  father- 
land. I  can  sincerely  give  it  all  back  to  them  in  their  own. 
What  a  miserable,  barren,  flat,  beggarly  country  theirs  is  !  I 
strongly  suspect  that  the  French  government  carries  on  the  war 
that  it  may  people  these  immense  solitudes.  There  are  almost 
as  many  prisoners  of  war  as  inhabitants  here. 

This  little  town  has  almost  fallen  to  the  ground,  but  my  host 
prides  himself  not  a  little  upon  its  great  antiquity.  It  is  a  plea- 
sure that  I  will  give  up  to  him.  He  has  a  young  daughter  who 
appears  to  me  much  prettier  than  the  oldest  town.  And  he  rec- 
ommends the  warm  baths  of  the  city  to  me  as  a  great  luxury,  be- 
lieving there  never  were  such  miraculous  baths  in  the  whole  world. 
But  the  man  is  a  born  fool  ; — warm  baths  while  the  weather  is 
hot  enough  already  to  suffocate  one.  I  am  burnt  as  black  by  the 
sun  as  a  mulatto,  and  I  can  scarcely  comprehend  how  the  young 
maiden  of  this  old  city  has  preserved  such  a  dazzling,  pure 
hand. 

The  prisoners  are  quartered  on  the  citizens  ;  but  we  receive 
nothing  free  but  lodging.  Everything  else  is  left  for  us  to  buy, 
if  we  would  not  starve.  My  money  has  come  to  the  dregs.  My 
fortune  consists  of  Sophia's  necklace  alone,  that  I  should  have 
brought  to  you  at  the  ball,  and  that  must  now  be  consumed  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  the  Pyrenees.  I  hope  my  good  Sophia  will 
bear  with  patience  the  present  loss  of  her  necklace,  and  be  happy 
that  her  ornament  can  preserve  the  life  of  her  poor  brother  from 
death  by  hunger  and  thirst.  I  have  already  sold  some  large  dia- 
monds and  pearls  to  a  jeweller  of  the  city,  but  he  was  not  in  a 


196 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


position  to  pay  down  the  cash.  He  was  obliged  to  get  the  gold 
from  Bayonne,  a  town  about  twelve  French  miles  dhtant  from 
here. 

Since  then  I  have  again  lived  very  comfortably,  kept  a  servant, 
taken  rides  in  the  neighbourhood,  received  visits,  and  lightened 
the  fate  of  my  fellow-prisoners.  Adieu. 


SEVENTH  LETTER* 

Aix  la  Chapelle,  July  \Zih. 

Te  Deum  laudamus  !  There  is  peace  ! — Every  one  comes 
to  congratulate  me  upon  my  approaching  deliverance,  and  my  re- 
turn home.  And  in  fact,  the  journey  from  Aix  to  Warsaw  needs 
a  felicitation,  for  I  put  little  trust  in  my  fortune.  The  French 
speak  of  naught  but  Tilsit,  and  raise  their  Napoleon  up  to  the 
Gods.  They  think  that  if  Julius  Caesar  and  Alexander  the  Great 
lived  at  the  present  day,  they  would  scarcely  perforin  the  service 
of  Adjutant  beside  the  great  Napoleon.  The  mayor  of  the  city 
asserted,  in  a  speech  which  he  made  in  honour  of  the  peace,  that 
without  doubt  Tilsit  was  on  the  borders  of  Asiatic  Tartary,  and 
far  to  the  north,  and  that  the  left  wing  of  the  great  army  had 
pushed  its  advance  guard  far  on  to  the  eternal  ice  of  the  North 
Pole,  where  no  mortal  had  dared  to  place  "his  foot  before.  The 
good  people  of  Aix  (who  are  also  called  asses)  froze  at  the  mere 
suggestion  of  the  mayor.  No  doubt,  after  listening  to  the  speech, 
they  had  immediate  recourse  to  their  warm  baths  to  ward  off  the 
Polar  cold. 

I  am  now  awaiting  the  command  to  return,  as  an  effect  of  the 
Tilsit  peace  ;  and  still  more  impatiently  a  few  letters  from  your 
beautiful  hand,  my  lovely  Countess,  before  I  leave. 

I  shall  procure  a  comfortable  and  strong  travelling  wagon,  and 
as  soon  as  I  am  free  I  shall  fly  over  the  Rhine  with  the  extra 
post  to  the  dear  Vistula.    My  servant,  an  honest  fellow  of  a  Gas- 


*  Between  this  letter  and  the  former  several  were  lost 


THE  INVOLUNTARY  JOURNEY. 


197 


con,  I  shall  bring  with  me.  He  is  much  attached  to  me,  and 
bears  the  great  Roman  name  of  Pompey.  The  strange  fellow 
has  no  fault  but  that  of  chattering  incessantly  without  regard  to  the 
subject.  He  can  talk  three  hours  about  salt  soap.  Sometimes  I 
like  to  be  overwhelmed  by  this  ocean  of  words,  that  is,  when  I 
cannot  forget  myself  in  sleep  ;  and  would  not  think,  and  would 
tear  myself  away  from  my  longing  for  you. 

Do  not  write  any  answers  either  to  this,  or  any  chance  letters 
sent  in  future.    They  would  arrive  too  late. 

With  this  letter  I  send  you  my  journal.  It  shall  be  my  fore- 
runner, and  relate  to  you  my  experiences,  remarks  and  adven- 
tures, more  circumstantially  than  I  have  been  able  to  do  till  now, 
in  my  hasty  letters.  I  wrote  it  in  weary  moments,  and  of  those 
I  had  not  a  few.  You  will  recognize  my  inmost  thoughts  therein, 
and  in  the  sanctuary  of  my  inmost  soul  you  will  always  find  me 
your  adorer  ! 

Perhaps  your  eyes  weep  a  tear  in  pity  for  the  unfortunate  on 

the  A  dour  perhaps  ere  you  have  left  off  reading  and  weeping 

I  shall  kiss  the  beautiful  tears  from  your  blushing  cheeks. 


EIGHTH  LETTER. 

Pampelona,  July  28th. 

My  sweet  Countess, 

Take  the  first  good  map  of  Spain,  seek  there  the  kingdom  of 
Navarre  ;  in  the  kingdom  of  Navarre,  the  capital,  Pampelona,  at 
the  foot  of  the  Pyrenees,  and  consider  1  am  there  ! 

I  have  an  actual  hobgoblin  of  a  genius  that  withdraws  me  fur- 
ther from  you,  when  I  am  most  certain  in  my  hopes  of  soon  being 

with  you.    The  whole  world  is  making  peace.  1  alone  must 

remain  at  war  with  the  whole  world,  struggling  with  Alcaydes, 
JRegidores,  Procuratores,  Escrivanos,  and  heaven  knows  how  many 
more  honourable  people.  Now  that  I  have  passed  the  Pyrenees, 
(certainly  with  little  good  will  on  my  part),  a  journey  may  yet  be 
made  to  Lisbon,  Madagascar,  Calcutta,  Isaphan,  and  Constantino- 


198 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES 


pie.  Put  no  longer  any  trust  in  aught  that  I  may  write  concern- 
ing my  return  to  Warsaw. 

I  had  received  your  package,  enclosing  some  letters  from  dear 

Sophie,  from  Uncle  St  ,  from  my  friend  W          and  Count 

S  .    Your  words  had  charmed  me  into  the  highest  heaven — 

I  enjoyed  the  sweetest  reward  for  past  sufferings,  when  mis- 
fortune brought  the  tipstave  of  the  Mayor  of  Aix  to  me  ;  the 
tipstave  led  me  to  the  Mayor ;  the  Mayor  to  the  Judge ;  the 
Judge  into  a  room  where  there  were  several  people,  amongst 
whom  I  only  knew  the  jeweller  or  goldsmith  to  whom  I  had  sold 
a  good  part  of  the  jewels  of  Sophie's  necklace,  three  weeks  before, 
to  pay  my  travelling  expenses.  They  showed  me  the  precious 
stones  and  pearls  in  a  little  box,  with  the  question,  "  Whether  I 
acknowledged  having  truly  sold  these  jewels  to  the  man  in  Bay- 
onne  V  They  pointed  out  the  goldsmith  to  me.  I  examined  the 
stones,  recognized  them,  answered  yes,  giving  them  several  ad- 
ditional circumstances. 

They  declared  me  guilty,  sealed  up  my  effects,  carried  me  to 
Bayonne,  gave  me  a  second  trial,  and  asked  me  in  a  most  inno- 
cent manner  for  the  hiding-place  of  my  companions  in  the  rob- 
bery. I  then  learned,  for  the  first  time,  that  a  princess  of  high 
rank  had  been  plundered  by  robbers  on  the  highway,  as  she 
touched  the  Spanish  borders  at  Trun.  I  proved  my  innocence  to 
the  judges,  by  bringing  forth  the  rest  of  Sophie's  necklace,  to 
which  the  stones  and  pearls  exactly  matched. 

They  clapped  their  hands,  took  the  necklace  from  me,  put  me 
in  closer  confinement,  and  let  me  know  incidentally  that  the 
necklace  answered  exactly  to  that  described  as  having  been 
stolen  from  the  princess.  Their  decision  only  gave  me  hopes  of 
getting  off  with  the  punishment  of  the  galleys  for  life,  if  I  would 
procure,  also,  a  jewelry-box,  with  ten  valuable  rings,  and  a 
diamond  cross,  belonging  to  the  pillaged  lady.  I  answered  all 
there  was  to  answer.  At  the  end  of  a  week  I  was  packed  on  a 
donkey,  and  well  bound,  and  well  watched,  I  was  led  to  Pampe- 
lona,  where  the  viceroy  (as  he  is  called)  had  imprisoned  some  of 
my  accomplices.  He  wanted  to  see  the  necklace,  and  to  con- 
front me  with  the  highwaymen. 

Let  come  what  may  out  of  this  absurd  affair,  I  now  only  write 


THE  INVOLUNTARY  JOURNEY. 


199 


to  you  that  you  may  know  what  has  become  of  me.  More  I  can- 
not write,  for  I  must  deliver  this  letter  open  to  the  police,  and  let 
it  be  read,  before  it  goes  to  you.  Console  my  sister.  If  I  am 
hung  in  Spain  it  is  your  fault,  for  sending  me  from  the  ball  to 
fetch  that  wicked  necklace.  But  even  on  the  gallows,  I  have  the 
honour  of  being,  &c,  &c. 


NINTH  LETTER. 

Bayonne,  August  14th. 

I  iiope  you  have  not  been  anxious  on  account  of  my  last  ad- 
venture. I  was  released  on  the  second  day  after  arriving  at 
Pampelona;  for  the  princess  being  there,  she  saw  immediately 
that  it  was  not  her  necklace  which  I  had.  The  confronting  me 
with  other  prisoners,  the  hanging,  and  a  life  in  the  galleys, 
readily  passed  away  from  my  mind.  Apologies  were  made  to 
me,  and  the  viceroy  even  invited  me  to  dinner,  and  I  was  pre- 
sented to  the  princess. 

But  the  Spanish  ground  burnt  like  fire  under  my  feet.  The 
viceroy  had  me  conveyed  to  Bayonne,  on  his  own  equipage. 
Here  I  find  that  my  passports  are  ready  for  Warsaw,  and  my 
chaise  brought  Pompey  from  Aix  yesterday.  Everything  is 
ready  for  departure. 

Whether  I  shall  go  forwards  to  Warsaw,  or  backwards  through 
Pampelona,  Madrid,  Cadiz,  Tangiers  and  Morocco — that,  my 
adored,  I  will  not  decide.  Some  enchanter  must  be  in  love  with 
you,  and  jealous  of  me.  Beyond  all  question  there  is  magic  in 
the  game.  In  the  natural  state  of  the  world,  one  is  not  required 
to  go  from  one  street  in  Warsaw  to  another,  by  way  of  the  Pyre- 
nees. But  if  my  enemy  bewitches  me  into  the  moon,  I  shall  even 
love  you  there. — My  next  letter  will  probably  be  dated  from 
Algiers.    I  am  full  of  resignation. 


200 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


TENTH  LETTER. 

Warsaw,  October  %d. 
I  have  just  recovered  from  my  first  rapture  of  joy  in  the  arms 
of  my  dear  Sophie — having  arrived  within  the  last  half  hour. 
Oh,  Amelia  !  Amelia !  I  tremble  with  delight  as  I  announce  my- 
self to  you  in  these  lines.  Let  me  know  when  I  and  my  sister 
can  come  to  you.  Amen. 

F.  B.  G. 


VICAR  OF  WILTSHIRE. 


*  Note  by  the  Author—  Goldsmith's  Vicar  of  Wakefield  appeared  in  Lon- 
don about  1772.  This  fact  is  mentioned  because  it  may  be  that  accomplish- 
ed writer  took  the  idea  of  his  excellent  work  from  the  fragment  of  the 
"  Journal  of  a  Vicar  in  Wiltshire,"  which  had  been  published  in  the  British 
Magazine  in  17G6.  It  was  there  described  as  an  actual  history,  and  it  is 
evident  that  it  owed  little  to  the  exaggerations  of  fancy.  I  cannot  discover 
that  the  Journal  has  been  continued  ;  probably  the  modest  Vicar  was  only 
induced  to  make  this  extract  public,  because  the  story  of  this  marvellous 
passage  of  his  life — perhaps  the  only  one — would  be  instructive  to  all  who 
might  read  it. 


» 


THE  VICAR  OF  WILTSHIRE. 


205 


LEAVES   FROM  THE 

JOURNAL  OF  A  POOR  VICAR 

IN  WILTSHIRE.* 


Dec.  15,  1764. — I  received  lo-day  from  Dr.  Snarl,  my  Rec- 
tor, £10  sterling,  being  the  amount  of  my  half-year's  salary. 
The  receipt  even  of  this  hardly-earned  sum  was  accompanied 
by  many  disagreeable  circumstances. 

After  I  had  waited  an  hour  and  a  half  in  the  cold  ante-cham- 
ber of  the  Rector,  I  was  admitted  to  his  presence.  He  was 
seated  in  a  large  easy  chair  at  his  writing-desk  ;  my  money  was 
already  counted  out.  My  low  bow  he  returned  with  a  majestic  side- 
nod,  while  he  slightly  pushed  back  his  beautiful  black  silk  cap, 
and  immediately  drew  it  on  again.  He  is  certainly  a  man  of  much 
dignity.  I  cannot  approach  him  without  awe.  I  do  believe  I 
should  not  enter  the  king's  presence  with  more  reverence. 

He  did  not  ask  me  to  sit  down,  although  he  knew  that  I  had 
this  very  morning  walked  eleven  miles  in  bad  weather,  and 
that  the  hour  and  a  half's  w-aiting  in  the  ante-chamber  had  not 
much  rested  my  wearied  limbs.  He  pointed  with  his  hand  to 
the  money. 

My  heart  beat  violently  when  I  would  introduce  the  subject, 

*  Two  spirited  translations  of  this  tale  have  already  been  made  in  this 
country — the  first  of  which,  by  Mrs.  Ellet.  appeared  in  a  monthly  magazine 
of  this  city,  and  the  second,  by  the  Rev.  Wm.  Furness,  was  published  in  the 
Gift,  an  annual.  In  re-writing  it,  not  in  the  hope  of  improving  it,  but  to  make 
it  uniform  with  the  original  edition  from  which  these  translations  are  made,  the 
editor  has  had  these  former  versions  constantly  before  him,  and  in  many  pas- 
sages found  he  could  do  no  better  than  copy  one  or  the  other  almost  literally. 

P.G. 


206 


ZSCHOKKES  TALES. 


long  thought  of  and  well  conned,  of  a  little  increase  of  my  sal- 
ary. Would  I  were  able  to  overcome  my  backwardness  in  the 
most  innocent,  nay  I  will  say,  even  in  the  most  righteous  cause. 
With  a  trepidation  as  if  I  were  about  to  commit  a  crime,  1  endeav- 
ored twice  to  tell  my  tale.  Memory,  words,  and  voice  failed  me. 
The  sweat  stood  in  great  drops  on  my  forehead. 

"  What  do  you  wish  ?"  said  the  rector  benignantly. 

"  I  am — everything  is  so  dear — scarcely  able  to  get  through 
these  hard  times,  with  my  small  salary." 

"Small  salary,  Mr.  Vicar!  How  can  you  think  so  ?  I  can 
any  day  procure  another  vicar  for  £15  pounds  sterling  a  year." 

"For  £15!  Yes,  without  a  family,  he  might  get  along  with 
that  sum." 

"  Your  family,  Mr.  Vicar,  has  not  received  any  addition,  I 
trust.    You  have  only  two  daughters  ?" 

"  Yes,  your  reverence  ;  but  these  are  growing  up.  My  Jen- 
ny, the  eldest,  is  now  eighteen,  and  Polly,  the  younger,  will  soon 
be  twelve." 

"  So  much  the  better.    Can't  your  girls  work  ?" 

I  was  going  to  reply,  when  he  hindered  me  by  rising  and  ob- 
serving, while  he  went  to  the  window  and  tapped  with  his  fingers 
on  the  glass,  that  he  had  no  time  to  talk  with  me  to-day.  "  Think 
it  over,"  he  concluded.  "  whether  you  will  retain  your  place  at 
£15  a  year,  and  let  me  know.  If  you  can't,  I  hope  you  will  get 
a  better  situation  for  a  New  Year's  present." 

He  bowed  very  politely,  and  again  touched  his  cap.  I  hastily 
seized  the  money  and  took  my  leave.  I  was  thunderstruck. 
He  had  never  received  nor  dismissed  me  so  coldly  before.  With- 
ouUdoubt  somebody  has  been  speaking  ill  of  me.  He  did  not 
even  invite  me  to  dinner,  as  had  always  before  been  his  custom. 
I  had  counted  upon  it,  for  I  came  from  Crekelad  without  break- 
ing my  fast.  I  bought  a  loaf  in  the  outskirts  of  the  town  at  a 
baker's  shop,  observed  in  passing,  and  ate  it  on  my  way  home- 
wards. 

How  cast  down  was  I  as  I  trudged  along  !  I  cried  like  a  child. 
The  bread  I  was  eating  was  wet  with  my  tears. 

Fy,  Thomas !  Shame  upon  thy  faint  heart !  Lives  not  the 
gracious  God  still  1    What  if  thou  hadst  lost  the  place  altogether  ? 


THE  VICAR  OF  WILTSHIRE. 


2)7 


And  it  is  only  £5  less !  It  is  indeed  a  quarter  of  my  whole  lit- 
tle yearly  stipend,  and  it  leaves  barely  lOd  a  day  to  feed  and 
clothe  three  of  us.  What  is  there  left  for  us  ?  He  who  clothes 
the  lilies  of  the  field  !  He  who  feeds  the  young  ravens  !  We 
must  deny  ourselves  some  of  our  superfluities.: 

Dec.  16th. — I  do  believe  Jenny  is  an  angel.  Her  soul  is  even 
more  beautiful  than  her  person.  I  am  almost  ashamed  of  being 
her  father.    She  is  so  much  better  and  more  pious  than  I. 

I  had  not  the  courage  yesterday  to  tell  my  girls  the  bad  news. 
When  I  mentioned  it  to-day  Jenny  at  first  looked  very  serious, 
but  suddenly  she  brightened  up  and  said,  "  Thou  art  distressed, 
father !" 

"  Have  I  not  reason  for  being  so  ?" 
"  No,  thou  hast  not  !" 

"Dear  child,  we  shall  never  be  free  from  debt  and  care.  I 
do  not  know  how  we  shall  live.  Our  need  is  sore.  Who  will 
give  us  the  £15,  hardly  sufficient  for  the  bare  necessaries  of  life  V 

Instead  of  answering,  Jenny  gently  passed  one  arm  round  my 
neck,  and  pointed  upwards  with  the  other,  "  He,  yonder  !"  said 
she. 

Polly  seated  herself  on  my  lap,  patted  my  face,  and  said, 
"  Let  me  tell  thee  something.  I  dreamed  last  night  that  it  was 
New  Year,  and  that  the  king  had  come  to  Crekelad.  There  was  a 
splendid  show.  The  king  dismounted  from  his  horse  before  our 
door  and  walked  in.  We  had  nothing  to  cook  or  bake.  He  or- 
dered some  of  his  own  dainties  to  be  brought  in  on  dishes  of  gold 
and  silver.  The  kettle-drums  and  trumpets  sounded  outside, 
and  behold,  with  the  sound  of  the  music,  in  marched  some  peo- 
ple with  a  bishop's  mitre  upon  a  satin  cushion,  a  New  Year's 
present  for  thee  !  It  looked  very  funny,  like  the  cocked  hats  of 
the  bishops  in  the  old  picture  books.  But  you  looked  right  well 
in  it.  Yet  I  laughed  myself  almost  out  of  breath.  Then 
Jenny  waked  me  up,  which  made  me  quite  angry.  This  dream 
has  certainly  something  to  do  with  a  New  Year's  present.  It  is 
only  fourteen  days  to  New  Year's." 

I  said  to  Polly,  "  Dreams  are  but  Seems }"  but  she  said, 
*  Dreams  come  from  God." 


208 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


I  do  not  believe  so.  Still  I  will  write  the  dream  down,  to 
see  whether  it  be  not  a  consoling  presage  from  heaven.  A 
Now  Year's  present  would  not  be  altogether  a  disagreeable 
thing  to  any  of  us. 

All  day  I  have  been  at  my  accounts.  I  do  not  like  accounts. 
Reckoning  and  money  matters  make  my  head  heavy  and  my 
heart  empty  and  sad. 

Dec.  11th. — My  debts,  God  be  thanked,  are  all  now  paid,  except 
one.  At  five  different  places  I  paid  off  £1  lis.  sterling.  I 
have  therefore  left  in  ready  money,  £2  9s.  This  must  last 
half  a  year.    God  help  us! 

The  black  hose  that  I  saw  at  tailor  Cutbay's  I  must  leave  un- 
purchased, although  I  have  great  need  of  them.  They  are  indeed 
pretty  well  worn,  yet  still  in  good  condition,  and  the  price  is  rea- 
sonable. But  Jenny  needs  a  gown  a  great  deal  more.  I  cannot 
bear  to  see  the  good  girl  wearing  her  thin  old  camlet  this  cold 
weather.  Polly  can  do  without,  her  sister  having  altered  her 
old  cloak  for  her  nicely. 

I  must  also  give  up  my  share  in  the  Gazette,  which  I  have  been 
taking  with  the  weaver  Westburn.  I  am  sorry  for  that,  for 
here  in  Crekelad  without  the  newspapers  one  never  knows  what 
is  going  on  in  the  world.  The  last  number  gives  an  account  of 
the  races  at  New-Market,  at  which  the  Duke  of  Cumberland 
won  from  the  Duke  of  Grafton,  a  wager  to  the  amount  of  five 
thousand  pounds  sterling  !  How  strange  it  seems  that  the  words 
of  Scripture  should  be  so  literally  fulfilled — "  To  him  that  hath 
shall  be  given :"  and  it  may  be  added  with  truth — "  From  him 
who  hath  not  shall  be  taken  away  even  that  which  he  hath."  I 
must  lose  £5  of  my  poor  salary. 

Fy,  Thomas,  ungrateful  murmurer  !  and  wherefore  murmur! 
Because  I  can  no  longer  read  the  newspaper !  May  1  be  for- 
given this  sin !  After  all,  I  can  learn  the  news  from  my  neigh- 
bors, whether  General  Paoli  succeeds  in  maintaining  the  free- 
dom of  Corsica.  The  French  have  promised  freedom  to  the 
Genoese  ;  but  Paoli  has  twenty  thousand  old  soldiers. 

December  IQth. — Ah,  how  little  it  takes  to  delight  poor  people! 


THE  VICAR  OF  WILTSHIRE. 


2C9 


Jenny  has  purchased  a  cloak  from  the  shopman  for  a  mere  song, 
and  is  now,  with  Polly,  engaged  in  ripping  it,  to  make  it  up  into 
one  for  herself.  She  understands  bargaining  better  than  I  do  ;  but 
perhaps  her  gentle,  winning  smile  assists  her.  She  wants  to  wear 
the  new  gown  on  New  Year's  day.  Polly  has  a  hundred  cheer- 
ful sayings  and  prophecies  to  make.  I  dare  say  the  Dey  of 
Algiers  never  pleased  himself  half  so  much  over  the  presents 
of  the  Venetians,  the  two  diamond  rings,  the  two  watches  set 
with  brilliants,  the  pistols  inlaid  with  gold,  the  rich  carpets,  rich 
housings,  and  twenty  thousand  sequins  in  cash. 

Jenny  thinks  we  can  save  enough  from  the  table  to  pay  for 
her  cloak  ;  we  are  therefore  to  have  no  meat  'till  New  Year's 
day.    This  is  quite  right. 

The  weaver  Westburn  is  a  kind  neighbor  ;  I  told  him  yester- 
day I  should  have  to  give  up  my  share  of  the  newspaper,  and 
he  answered,  shaking  me  by  the  hand — "  Well,  then,  I  will 
take  the  paper  alone,  and  you  shall  read  it  with  me,  my  good  sir." 

It  must  be  confessed  that  there  are  more  kind  people  in  the 
world  than  we  are  apt  to  think,  and  more  among  the  poor  than 
the  rich. 

Evening. — The  baker  is  morose,  though  I  owe  him  nothing  ; 
yet  as  Polly  went  to  fetch  the  bread,  which  was  small  or  badly 
raised,  or  half  burnt,  he  began  to  quarrel  with  her  so  vehemently, 
that  people  stopped  in  the  street.  He  protested  that  he  would 
let  us  have  nothing  more  on  credit;  that  we  must  get  our  bread 
elsewhere.  Polly  came  home  crying.  I  am  sorry  for  the  poor 
child  ;  yet  we  have  enough  to  comfort  us. 

I  wonder  how  the  Crekeladers  get  all  their  news.  It  is  cur- 
rently reported  that  Doctor  Snarl  is  going  to  provide  himself 
with  another  vicar  in  my  stead.    That  would  be  my  ruin  ! 

The  butcher  hearing  of  my  near  misfortunes,  has  sent  his 
wife  to  me,  complaining  of  hard  times,  and  regretting  that  it 
will  be  out  of  his  power  to  furnish  meat  hereafter,  except  for 
the  cash.  The  woman  was  civil  enough,  and  overflowed 
in  expressions  of  kindness  and  esteem  for  us  ;  I  cannot  blame 
her.  She  advised  us  to  go  to  Colswood,  and  deal  with  him  here- 
15 


210 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


after ;  he  was  rich,  and  could  afford  to  wait  for  his  pay.  I 
could  have  told  the  good  woman  how  this  usurer  ahused  us  a 
year  ago ;  he  asking  a  penny  a  pound  more  for  his  meat  than 
anybody  else;  and  that  when  his  oaths  and  curses  could  not 
help  him,  and  he  could  not  deny  the  fact,  he  had  boldly  said, 
the  money  he  had  to  wait  for  ought  to  bring  him  interest,  and 
had  shown  us  the  door. 

My  little  wealth  has  dwindled  down  to  two  pounds  one  shil- 
ling and  three-pence.  How  will  this  end,  if  no  one  will  trust 
me,  till  I  can  pay  my  bills  quarterly  ?  And,  if  the  Rector  de- 
prives me  of  my  place,  I  and  my  children  must  be  turned  into 
the  street.    Be  it  so,  God  is  also  in  the  street. 

December  19th,  very  early. — I  have  been  awake  a  long  time, 
turning  over  in  my  mind  what  I  shall  do.  I  thought  of  writing 
to  Master  Sitting,  my  rich  cousin  at  Cambridge,  but,  alas  !  it  is 
the  rich,  not  the  poor,  who  have  cousins.  Were  I  a  bishop,  as 
Polly  thought  me  in  her  dream,  then  half  England  would  claim 
to  be  related.  Finally,  I  wrote  the  following  letter  to  Dr.  Snarl, 
to  send  by  to-day's  post : 

"  Rev'd  Sir — I  write  with  an  anxious  heart.  It  is  rumored 
here  that  you  are  going  to  provide  yourself  with  another  vicar, 
and  dismiss  me.  I  know  not  if  there  be  any  ground  for  such  a 
report,  or  if  it  has  merely  grown  out  of  what  was  said  at  our 
last  interview,  which  I  mentioned  to  one  or  two  persons.  I  trust 
you  have  no  intention  of  dismissing  me.  I  have  endeavored  to 
discharge  the  duties  committed  to  me  zealously  and  faithfully. 
I  have  preached  the  word  of  God  in  purity,  and  with  a  wish  to 
impress  the  truth  on  the  hearts  of  the  people.  I  hear  no  com- 
plaints ;  nay,  my  inward  monitor,  conscience,  does  not  accuse 
me.  I  cannot  think  in  what  I  have  offended,  except  in  my  hum- 
ble petition  the  other  day  for  an  augmentation  of  salary  ;  you 
then  spoke  of  lessening  it,  though  before  it  hardly  sufficed  to 
keep  me  and  my  family  from  absolute  want.  Your  own  human 
feelings,  sir,  may  decide  if  I  ought  to  be  blamed  for  that.  Under 
your  honored  predecessor  I  served  sixteen  years,  under  you  I 
have  served  a  year  and  a  half.    I  am  now  fifty  years  old  ;  my 


THE  VICAR  OF  WILTSHIRE. 


211 


hair  begins  to  grow  grey ;  I  have  no  friends  or  patrons,  no  pros- 
pect of  another  place,  and  can  think  of  no  other  way  of  earning 
my  bread.  My  living  and  that  of  my  children  depend  on  your 
favor.  Should  you  cast  us*  off,  we  are  reduced  to  beggary. 
My  expenses,  as  I  mentioned  before,  have  been  unavoidably  in- 
creased  of  late,  notwithstanding  the  most  rigid  economy.  My 
eldest  daughter  fills  the  place  of  mother  to  the  younger,  and 
takes  charge  of  the  house.  We  keep  no  servants — my  girls 
are  maid,  cook,  laundress  and  seamstress  :  while  I  am  carpen- 
ter, mason,  chimney-sweeper,  woodcutter,  gardener,  and  wood- 
carrier  to  the  household.  They  have  endeavored  to  earn  some- 
thing by  taking  in  work,  but  little  is  to  be  done  in  this  way. 
Crekelad  is  a  small  place,  the  people  are  not  rich,  and  seldom 
hire  assistance.  I  should  not  forget  to  enumerate  mercies  with 
hardships :  we  have  had  little  sickness,  and  no  occasion  for 
a  physician.  This  has  been  fortunate  for  us.  I  trouble  you 
with  this  detail,  to  show  you  how  much  reason  I  had  to  wish  for 
an  increase  of  means.  It  was  hard  to  live  on  twenty  pounds  a 
year,  I  anticipate  more  difficulty  with  but  fifteen,  but  I  have 
no  other  resource,  and  trust,  sir,  in  your  kindness  and  the  mercy 
of  God,  to  continue  that  to  me — etc.  etc. 

When  I  had  sealed  and  directed  this  letter,  I  threw  myself  on 
my  knees,  and  prayed  that  it  might  be  successful,  while  Polly 
took  it  to  the  letter-carrier.  How  wonderfully  relieved  I  felt  in 
mind  !  Ah  !  a  word  to  God  is  ever  a  word  from  God  !  I  went 
forth  from  my  chamber  as  light-hearted  as  I  had  entered  it  sad. 

Jenny  sat  by  the  window  at  work,  looking  as  serene  and 
happy  as  if  nothing  had  ever  occurred  to  trouble  her.  How 
beautiful  she  appeared,  as  the  rays  of  the  morning  sun,  pouring 
through  the  little  window,  were  reflected  on  her  face !  I  felt 
refreshed  in  spirit.  I  sat  down  at  my  desk  to  write  my  sermon 
on  the  joys  of  poverty. 

In  the  church  I  preach  to  myself  as  well  as  to  others,  and  if 
nobody  else  is  benefited  I  am  ;  if  no  soul  receives  comfort  from 
my  words,  I  do.  It  is  with  the  minister  as  with  the  physician — 
he  knows  the  design  of  his  salutary  medicines,  though  not  al- 
ways their  effect  on  the  constitutions  of  those  to  whom  they  are 
administered. 


212  ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 

Noon. — This  morning  I  received  a  note,  sent  from  a  stranger 
who  had  lodged  at  the  inn  all  night,  begging  to  see  me  as  soon 
as  I  could  make  it  convenient.  I  walked  down  immediately 
and  inquired  for  the  stranger.  He  was  a  fine-looking  young 
man,  of  about  six  and  twenty.  He  wore  an  overcoat,  much  the 
worse  for  wear,  and  his  boots  were  soiled  with  travelling.  His 
hat,  though  originally  of  better  quality  than  mine,  was  even 
more  worn  ;  yet  spite  of  his  threadbare  apparel,  his  bearing  was 
that  of  a  gentleman.  I  noticed  also  that  his  shirt  was  of  fine 
linen,  having  been  given  to  him  probably  by  some  benevolent 
person.  He  asked  me  into  a  private  room,  and  after  begging 
pardon  for  thus  troubling  me,  informed  me  humbly  that  he 
found  himself  at  present  in  the  greatest  distress,  and  hav- 
ing no  acquaintance  in  the  village,  where  he  arrived  yester- 
day evening,  he  had  applied  to  me,  knowing  that  I  was  a  cler- 
gyman. He  was,  he  added,  by  profession  an  actor,  but  with- 
out employment,  and  on  his  way  to  Manchester  ;  but  was  just 
now  unexpectedly  out  of  money.  He  had  expanded  all  his 
money,  and  had  not  enough,  in  fact,  to  pay  for  his  night's  lodg- 
ing and  his  fare  to  Manchester  ;  he  needed  but  the  merest  trifle 
— twelve  shillings.  That  sum  would  relieve  him  from  his  diffi- 
culties— and  if  I  would  be  kind  enough  to  advance  it,  I  might 
rest  assured  that  as  soon  as  he  obtained  anything  from  his  en- 
gagement in  Manchester,  it  should  be  thankfully  repaid.  His 
name  was  John  Fleetman. 

It  was  not  necessary  for  him  to  say  how  much  anxiety  his 
embarrassment  caused  him,  as  his  distressed  looks  showed  that 
more  plainly  than  words.  Alas  !  he  must  have  read  an  answering 
grief  in  mine  !  When  he  turned  his  eyes  to  me  he  seemed  struck 
with  alarm,  and  exclaimed — "  Will  you  not  relieve  me,  sir?" 

Without  ifs  or  huts  I  explained  to  him  the  circumstances  in 
which  I  was  placed,  that  the  sum  he  required  was  no  less  than 
the  fourth  part  of  my  whole  property,  and  that  I  was  by  no  means 
certain  of  retaining  the  scanty  support  I  had.  With  evident 
disappointment  and  chagrin,  he  answered — "You  comfort  the 
unfortunate  with  stories  of  your  own  misfortunes.  I  seel  can 
ask  nothing  of  you.  But  is  there  no  other  person  in  this  village 
who  has,  if  not  wealth,  at  least  sympathy  for  one  in  my  strait  V 


THE  VICAR  OF  WILTSHIRE. 


213 


I  cast  an  embarrassed  look  at  Mr.  Fleetman,  and  was  vexed  that 
T  had  been  tempted  to  speak  of  my  own  unhappy  situation,  and 
to  make  that  an  excuse  for  being  deaf  to  the  call  of  distress.  I 
thought  over  all  my  acquaintance  in  Crekelad,  but  recalled 
none  to  whom  I  could  recommend  the  young  man  to  apply.  At 
last,  stepping  up  to  him,  and  laying  my  hand  on  his  shoulder,  I 
said — "  Mr.  Fleetman,  I  am  truly  sony  for  you.  Have  a  little 
patience  ;  you  see  I  am  very  poor,  but  I  will  help  you  if  I  can. 
In  an  hour  you  shall  have  an  answer  from  me." 

I  went  home.  On  the  way  I  could  not  help  thinking  how 
singular  it  was  that  the  stranger  should  think  first  of  applying 
to  me — he  being  a  comedian,  and  I  a  clergyman.  There  must 
be  something  in  my  nature  which  draws  the  poor  and  unfortu- 
nate to  me  like  magnetism.  Those  in  need  come  to  me,  who 
have  least  to  give.  I  will  almost  wager  that  were  I  seated  at  a 
table  with  strangers,  and  a  hungry  dog  came  into  the  room,  he 
would  be  sure  to  run  straight  up  to  me,  and  lay  his  cold  nose 
entreatingly  on  my  lap  to  watch  my  eating. 

On  reaching  home,  I  told  the  girls  who  the  stranger  was  and 
what  he  wanted.  I  wished  to  have  Jenny's  advice.  She  said 
in  a  sympathizing  tone — "  I  know,  father,  what  thou  art  think- 
ing — so  I  have  no  advice  to  give  in  the  matter." 

"  And  what  am  I  thinking  ?" 

"  That  thou  wilt  do  to  this  poor  actor  what  thou  wishest  God 
and  Dr.  Snarl  should  do  to  thee." 

That  was  not  what  I  was  thinking  ;  but  I  wish  such  had  been 
my  thought.  I  counted  out  the  twelve  shillings  and  gave  them 
to  Jenny,  that  she  might  take  them  to  the  traveller.  I  wished 
to  shun  his  thanks.  It  would  have  humbled  me.  Ingratitude 
always  makes  me  more  proud, — and  now  I  will  go  on  to  write 
my  sermon. 

Evening. — The  actor  is  a  noble  man.  When  Jenny  returned, 
she  had  much  to  tell  me  of  what  she  had  seen  and  heard,  not 
only  about  the  stranger  but  the  landlady.  The  mistress  of  the 
inn  had  learned  that  her  guest's  purse  was  empty,  and  Jenny 
could  not  deny  when  questioned  that  she  brought  him  some 
money  from  me.    Then  she  had  to  listen  to  a  lecture  upon  the 


214 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


folly  of  giving  when  one  has  so  little,  and  the  danger  of  help, 
ing  vagabonds  when  one  has  not  enough  to  live  on  at  home : 
with  "a  shirt  is  nearer  than  the  coat,"  "to  feed  one's  own 
maketh  fat,"  &c,  &c. 

I  was  still  writing  mv  sermon  when  Master  Fleetman  came 
in.  He  could  not  leave  Crekelad,  he  said,  without  thanking  his 
benefactor,  who  had  relieved  him  in  so  pressing  a  difficulty. 
Jenny  was  just  -aying  the  cloth  for  dinner.  We  had  an  omelet 
and  turnips.  I  invited  him  to  partake  with  us.  He  accepted 
willingly,  having  made,  as  he  intimated,  but  a  sorry  breakfast 
at  the  inn.  Polly  brought  some  beer.  We  had  not  for  some 
time  fared  so  well. 

Mr.  Fleetman  seemed  to  enjoy  our  social  meal.  His  former 
expression  of  anxiety  and  distress  was  gone,  but  still  there  was 
about  him  that  air  of  reserve  and  melancholy  peculiar  to  the 
unfortunate.  He  thought  us  very  happy,  and  we  assured  him 
we  were  so.  He  took  me  to  be  better  off  in  the  world  than  I 
had  said  ;  but  in  that  he  was  mistaken.  Our  real  poverty  was 
not  apparent  to  him,  while  everything  looked  so  neat  and  com- 
fortable about  us.  The  orderly  appearance  of  our  little  apart- 
ment, the  cleanliness  of  the  floor  and  the  windows,  shaded  by 
snow-white  curtains,  with  the  polish  of  our  chairs  and  table, 
took  his  attention  from  the  homeliness  of  the  furniture.  In 
truth  the  cottages  of  the  poor  generally  present  such  a  scene 
of  dirt  and  discomfort,  as  excites  disgust  as  well  as  pity.  They 
seem  to  think  it  costs  too  much  to  be  clean.  But  this  is  a  mis- 
take. Order  and  neatness  are  the  best  helps  to  economy  ;  so 
I  always  taught  my  sainted  wife.  Jenny  has  learned  this  lesson 
admirably,  and  is  teaching  it  daily  to  her  sister.  She  has  an 
eye  for  the  smallest  flymark. 

Before  long  our  guest  was  quite  at  home  and  familiar  with 
us.  But  he  spoke  less  of  his  own  than  of  our  prospects.  The 
poor  man  has  evidently  something  heavy  upon  his  heart  ;  I 
will  not  believe  upon  his  conscience.  I  noticed  that  he  often 
paused  in  the  midst  of  conversation,  and  seemed  abstracted  ; 
then  he  would  exert  himself  to  be  cheerful.  May  he  be  con- 
soled  if  he  have  need  of  comfort ! 


THE  VICAR  OF  WILTSHIRE. 


215 


As  he  was  quitting  us  after  dinner,  I  gave  him  much  friondly 
counsel  for  his  journey.  Actors,  I  know,  are  rather  a  frivolous 
set.  He  promised  me  sacredly  as  soon  as  he  should  have  money, 
to  send  back  my  loan.  He  must  be  serious  in  that,  for  lie 
looked  very  honest,  and  several  times  asked  how  long  I  thought 
I  should  be  able,  with  the  rest  of  my  ready  money,  to  meet  the 
necessaries  of  my  household. 

His  last  words  were,  "  It  is  impossible  it  should  go  ill  with 
you  in  the  world.  You  have  heaven  in  your  breast,  and  two 
angels  of  God  at  your  side."  With  these  words  he  pointed  to 
Polly  and  Jenny. 

December  20. — The  day  has  passed  very  quietly,  but  I  can- 
not say  very  agreeably,  for  the  grocer  Lester  sent  me  his  bill  for 
the  year.  It  was,  for  what  we  had  had  of  him,  larger  than  we 
had  expected,  although  we  had  had  nothing  of  which  we  did 
not  ourselves  keep  an  account.  Only  he  had  raised  the  price 
of  all  his  articles.  Otherwise,  his  account  agreed  honestly 
with  ours. 

The  worst  is  the  arrears  of  my  last  year's  bill.  He  begged 
for  the  payment  of  the  same,  as  he  is  in  great  need  of  money. 
The  whole  amount  due  is  eighteen  shillings. 

I  went  to  see  Mr.  Lester.  He  is  a  very  polite  and  reasonable 
man.  I  hoped  to  satisfy  him  by  paying  him  in  part,  and  prom- 
ising to  pay  the  remainder  by  Easter.  But  he  was  not  to  be 
moved,  and  he  regretted  that  his  need  was  such  as  to  drive  him 
to  make  use  of  every  means.  If  he  could,  he  would  gladly 
wait;  but  within  three  days  he  would  have  to  pay  a  note  which 
had  just  been  presented  to  him.  With  a  merchant  credit  is 
everything. 

To  all  this  there  was  nothing  to  be  said  in  reply,  after  my 
repeated  requests  for  delay  had  proved  vain.  Ought  I  to  have 
allowed  him  to  go  to  law  against  me,  as  he  threatened  ?  I  sent 
him  the  money,  and  paid  off  the  whole  debt.  But  now  my  whole 
property  has  melted  down  to  eleven  shillings.  Heaven  grant 
that  the  actor  may  soon  send  back  the  little  loan  !  Otherwise  I 
know  not  what  help  there  is  for  us. 

Now,  if  thou  knowest  not,  thou  man  of  little  faith,  God  know 


216 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


eth.  Why  is  thy  heart  cast  down  ?  What  evil  hast  thou  done  ? 
Poverty  is  no  crime. 

December  24. — One  may  be  very  joyful  after  all,  even  with 
the  least.  We  have  a  thousand  pleasures  in  Jenny's  new  gown. 
She  looks  as  beautiful  in  it  as  a  bride.  But  she  wishes  to  wear 
it  the  first  time  in  public  at  church  on  New  Year's  day. 

Every  evening  she  reckons  up,  and  shows  me  with  how  little 
expense  she  has  got  through  with  her  housekeeping.  Of  course 
we  are  all  in  bed  by  seven  o'clock,  to  save  oil  and  coals.  That 
is  no  great  hardship.  The  girls  are  so  much  the  more  indus- 
trious in  the  day,  and  they  chat  in  bed  together  until  midnight. 
We  have  a  good  store  of  turnips  and  vegetables.  Jenny  thinks 
we  can  get  through  six  or  eight  weeks  without  running  in  debt. 
That  were  a  stroke  of  management  without  parallel.  And  until 
then,  we  all  hope  that  Mr.  Fleetman,  like  an  honest  man,  will 
keep  his  word,  and  pay  us  back  the  loan.  If  I  appear  to  dis- 
trust him,  it  awakens  all  Jenny's  zeal.  She  will  allow  no  evil 
of  the  comedian. 

He  is  frequently  our  topic.  The  girls  often  talk  of  him. 
He  will  furnish  us  matter  of  conversation  for  half  a  year.  His 
arrival  was  an  era  in  our  monotonous  life.  It  is  amusing  to 
see  Jenny's  indignation  when  the  mischievous  Polly  says  :  "  What 
a  pity  he  is  nothing  but  a  player!"  Jenny  tells  about  the  rich 
and  celebrated  actors  in  London,  who  sit  at  the  Prince's  table,  and 
she  is  ready  to  prove  that  Fleetman  must  become  one  of  the  best 
of  Actors.  For  he  is  tall  and  well  formed,  and  has  so  much 
dignity,  and  such  well-selected  phrases.  "Ah  yes!"  cried 
Polly,  archly,  to-day,  "  fine  phrases,  indeed — did  he  not  call 
you  an  angel  ?"  "  And  you  too  V  answers  her  sister,  color- 
ing. "  Yes,  it  is  true,  I  was  thrown  into  the  bargain,"  says 
the  younger,  "  but  he  looked  at  you  while  he  was  speaking." 

All  this  chat  and  girlish  nonsense  awakens  in  me  a  father's 
anxiety.  Polly  grows  apace.  Jenny  is  now  eighteen.  What 
prospects  have  I  of  seeing  the  poor  girls  well  to  do  ?  Jenny 
is  well-informed,  industrious,  and  a  very  lovely  girl,  but  our 
poverty  is  known  to  all  Crekelad  ;  on  that  account  we  are  ne- 
glected, and  it  will  be  difficult  to  find  a  husband  for  Jenny. 
Ad  angel  without  money  is  now.a-days  thought  less  of,  than  a 


THE  VICAR  OF  WILTSHIRE. 


217 


devil  with  a  bag  full  of  guineas.  Jenny's  wealth  is  her  sweet 
face,  which  everybody  admires.  Even  the  shopkeeper,  Lester, 
when  she  took  the  money  to  him  the  other  day,  presented  her 
with  a  pound  of  almonds  and  raisins,  and  said  he  was  very  sorry 
to  press  me  for  payment,  but  that  if  I  would  continue  to  deal 
with  him,  he  would  give  me  credit  till  Easter.  I  do  not  think  he 
would  have  said  so  much  to  me. 

December  26. — These  have  been  two  lowering  days.  The 
Christmas  festival  has  never  seemed  so  gloomy  before.  I 
preached  my  two  sermons  in  two  days,  five  times,  in  four  diffe- 
rent churches.  The  roads  were  bad,  and  the  weather  dismal. 
I  feel  that  I  am  beginning  to  grow  old.  I  have  no  longer  the 
strength  and  elasticity  of  frame  I  once  had.  In  fact,  cabbage 
and  turnips,  with  scarcely  a  bit  of  butter,  and  a  glass  of  water 
added,  do  not  furnish  much  nutriment. 

Both  days  I  dined  at  Farmer  Hurst's.  The  country  people 
are  far  more  hospitable  than  the  villagers,  among  whom  I  have 
not  been  invited  out  to  dinner  in  six  months.  How  I  wished 
my  daughters  could  have  sat  down  to  table  with  us  !  Such  a 
profusion  of  good  things.  Could  they  only  have  had  for  a 
Christmas  feast  the  fragments  of  our  meal,  reserved  for  the  far- 
mer's dogs  !  But  they  had  some  cake,  and  enjoy  it  even  while 
I  am  writing.  I  am  glad  that  when  they  pressed  me  to  eat 
more,  I  had  courage  to  ask  for  a  slice  of  cake  to  carry  home 
to  the  girls.  The  good  people  filled  a  basket  for  me,  and  as  it 
was  raining,  sent  me  to  Crekelad  in  the  wagon. 

Eating  and  drinking  are  indeed  of  little  importance,  if  one 
has  enough  to  satisfy  his  hunger  and  thirst.  Yet  it  may  not  be 
denied  that  a  comfortable  provision  for  the  body  is  an  agreeable 
thing.    One  thinks  clearer, — one  feels  more  vivacious';". 

I  am  now  very  tired,  and  will  write  down  some  other  time  my 
conversation  with  Farmer  Hurst,  which  was  really  worth  noting. 

December  27. — We  have  lived  to  know  perfect  joy.  But  one 
must  be  moderate  in  his  joys.  The  girls  must  learn  to  practise 
themselves  in  self-denial.  Therefore  I  lay  aside  the  packet  of 
money  which  Mr.  Fleetman  has  sent.  I  will  not  break  the  seal 
until  after  dinner.    My  daughters  are  Eve's  daughters.  They 


218 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


are  dying  of  curiosity  to  know  what  Mr.  Fleetman  writes. 

They  are  examining  the  address,  and  the  packet  is  passing  from 
one  to  the  other  three  times  in  a  minute. 

Indeed  I  am  more  disturbed  than  rejoiced.  I  lent  Mr.  Fleet- 
man  only  twelve  shillings,  and  he  sends  me  back  £5.  God  be 
praised  !    He  must  have  been  very  successful. 

How  good  and  evil  are  blended  in  this  world  !  I  heard  yes- 
terday morning  a  report  that  wagoner  Brooks  had  committed 
suicide,  because  of  his  embarrassments,  and  went  to  Alderman 
Field  son's  to  see  about  it.  This  man  was  a  distant  relation  of 
my  late  wife,  and  ten  or  twelve  years  ago  I  had  consented  to 
be  his  security  to  the  amount  of  an  hundred  pounds  sterling,  he 
being  about  to  make  a  purchase  of  some  property.  I  had  never 
been  released  from  my  security,  and  remembered  having  heard 
recently  that  Brooks  had  met  with  losses,  and  become  very  in- 
temperate. 

Alderman  Fieldson  persuaded  me  not  to  distress  myself  about 
it.  He  too  had  heard  the  rumor,  but  thought  it  improbable. 
There  had  been  no  official  notification  of  the  incident.  1  went 
home  somewhat  more  at  ease,  and  prayed  that  God  would  be 
merciful. 

Polly  ran  to  meet  me,  crying — "  A  letter  from  Mr.  Fleetman, 
father,  with  five  pounds!  The  package  cost  seven  pence  postage." 

Jenny,  blushing,  reached  it  to  me,  before  I  could  lay  aside  my 
stick  and  hat,  and  I  perceived  that  both  the  girls  were  half  out 
of  their  wits  with  eagerness.  Pushing  back  the  scissors  and 
knives,  I  said,  "  Do  you  not  see,  children,  that  it  is  harder  to 
bear  a  great  joy  with  composure,  than  a  great  evil  ?  I  have 
often  admired  your  cheerfulness  when  we  were  in  the  sorest 
want,  and  knew  not  where  we  were  to  find  food  for  the  next  day. 
I>ut  now  the  fust  smile  of  fortune  puts  you  beside  yourselves. 
As  a  punishment  for  you  I  shall  not  open  the  letter  nor  the  packet 
of  money  until  after  dinner." 

Jenny  would  have  persuaded  me  that  it  was  not  the  money, 
but  Mr.  Fleetman's  unusual  gratitude  and  honesty,  that  rejoiced 
her,  and  that  she  only  wanted  to  know  what  he  wrote,  and  how 
he  was ;  but  I  adhered  to  my  determination.  This  little  Miss 
Curiosity  must  learn  to  practise  patience. 


THE  VICAR  OF  WILTSHIRE. 


21) 


The  same  day.  Evening. — Our  joy  is  turned  into  sorrow. 
The  letter  with  the  money  came,  not  from  Mr.  Fleetman,  but 
from  the  Rev.  Dr.  Snarl.  He,  as  an  answer  to  my  letter,  fore- 
warns me  that  our  engagement  will  terminate  at  Easter.  He 
informs  me  that  until  that  time  I  may  look  about  for  another 
situation,  and  that  he  has  accordingly  not  only  paid  me  up  my 
salary  in  advance,  that  I  may  bear  any  travelling  expenses  I 
may  be  at,  but  also  directed  the  new  vicar,  my  successor,  .to 
discharge  my  parish  duties. 

Thus  the  talk  of  the  people  here  in  town  was  not  wholly 
groundless,  and  it  may  also  be  true,  what  is  said,  that  the  new 
vicar  had  received  his  appointment  thus  readily,  because  he  has 
married  a  near  relative  of  his  reverence,  to  save  the  reputation 
of  the  lady  !  So  I  must  lose  my  office  and  my  bread  for  the  sake 
of  the  indiscretion  of  a  woman,  and  be  turned  into  the  street 
with  my  poor  children,  because  a  man  can  be  found  to  buy  my 
place  at  the  price  of  his  own  honor  ! 

Jenny  and  Polly  turned  deadly  pale,  when  they  found  that  the 
letter  came  not  from  Mr.  Fleetman,  but  from  the  rector  ;  and  that 
the  money,  instead  of  being  the  generous  return  of  gratitude, 
was  the  last  wretched  reward  of  my  many  years'  services. 
Polly  threw  herself  sobbing  into  a  chair,  and  Jenny  left  the 
room.  My  hand  trembled  as  I  held  the  letter  containing  my 
formal  dismissal.  But  I  went  into  my  little  chamber,  locked 
myself  in,  and  fell  upon  my  knees  and  prayed,  while  Polly  wept 
aloud. 

I  rose  from  my  knees  refreshed  and  comforted,  and  took  my 
Bible  ;  and  the  first  words  upon  which  my  eves  fell  were,  "  Fear 
not,  for  I  have  redeemed  thee,  I  have  called  thee  by  thy  name  ; 
thou  art  mine."    Isaiah,  chap,  xliii.,  v.  1. 

Then  all  fear  vanished  out  of  my  heart.  I  looked  up,  and 
said,  "Yea,  Lord,  I  am  thine." 

As  I  did  not  hear  Polly  weep  any  more,  I  went  back  into  the 
parlor ;  but  when  I  saw  her  upon  her  knees  praying,  with  her 
clasped  hands  resting  on  a  chair,  I  drew  back  into  my  chamber 
and  shut  the  door  very  softly,  that  the  dear  soul  might  not  be 
disturbed. 

After  some  time,  I  heard  Jenny  come  in.   I  then  returned  to 


££0 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


my  daughters.  They  were  both  sitting  at  the  window.  I  saw 
by  Jenny's  wet  eyes  that  she  had  been  giving  relief  to  her 
anguish  in  solitude.  They  both  looked  timidly  at  me.  I  believe 
they  feared  lest  they  should  see  some  sign  of  despair  on  my 
countenance.  But  when  they  saw  that  I  was  quite  composed 
and  serene,  and  that  I  addressed  them  cheerfully,  they  were 
relieved.  I  took  the  letter  and  the  money,  and  humming  a  little 
psalm,  threw  them  into  my  desk.  They  did  not  allude  to  the 
matter  the  whole  day,  nor  did  I  mention  it.  This  silence  in 
them  was  owing  to  a  tender  regard  for  me  ;  with  me  it  was  fear 
lest  I  should  expose  my  weakness  before  my  children. 

The  28lh  of  December. — It  is  good  to  let  the  first  storm  go  by, 
without  looking  its  desolation  too  closely  in  the  face.  We  have 
all  had  a  good  night's  sleep.  We  talk  freely  now  of  Dr. 
Snarl's  letter,  and  of  my  loss  of  office,  as  of  old  affairs.  We 
discuss  all  manner  of  projects  for  the  future.  The  bitterest 
thing  in  all  these  plans  is  that  we  must  be  separated.  We  can 
think  of  nothing  better  than  that  Jenny  and  Polly  should  go  to 
service  in  respectable  families,  while  I  betake  myself  to  my 
travels  to  seek  somewhere  a  home  and  bread  for  myself  and 
children. 

Polly  has  again  recovered  her  former  good  humor.  She  has 
recourse  again  to  her  dream  about  the  bishop's  mitre,  and  gives 
us  much  amusement.  She  counts  almost  superstitiously  upon 
some  new  year's  present.  I  have  sometimes  thought  much  of 
dreams,  but  I  do  not  believe  in  them. 

As  soon  as  the  new  vicar,  my  successor,  shall  have  arrived, 
and  is  inducted  into  his  office,  I  shall  hand  over  to  him  the  parish- 
books,  and  take  my  way  in  search  of  bread  elsewhere.  In  the 
mean  time,  I  will  write  to  a  couple  of  old  acquaintances  at 
Salisbury  and  Westminster,  to  request  them  to  find  places  for 
my  daughters,  as  cooks,  seamstresses,  or  chambermaids,  in  some 
worthy  families.  Jenny  would  be  an  excellent  governess  for 
little  children. 

I  will  not  leave  my  daughters  in  Crekelad.  The  place  is 
poor,  the  people  are  unsociable,  proud,  and  have  the  narrow 
ways  of  a  small  town.    They  talk  now  of  nothing  but  the  new 


THE  VICAR  OF  WILTSHIRE. 


221 


vicar.  Some  are  sorry  that  I  must  leave,  but  I  know  not  who 
takes  it  to  heart. 

The  29th  December. — I  have  written  to-day  to  my  Lord 
Bishop  of  Salisbury,  and  laid  before  him  in  strong  terms,  the 
sad,  helpless  situation  of  my  children,  and  my  long  and  faithful 
services  in  the  vineyard  of  the  Lord.  He  must  be  a  humane, 
pious  man.  May  God  soften  his  heart!  Among  the  three  hun- 
dred and  four  parishes  of  the  county  of  Wiltshire,  there  must 
certainly  be  at  least  some  little  corner  for  me  !  I  do  not  ask 
much. 

Dec.  3Qth. — The  bishop's  mitre  that  Polly  dreamt  of  must  soon 
make  its  appearance,  otherwise  I  shall  have  to  go  to  jail.  I  see 
now  very  plainly  that  the  jail  is  inevitable. 

Iam  very  weak,  and  in  vain  do  I  exert  myself  to  practise  my 
old  heroism.  Even  strength  fails  me  for  fervent  prayer.  My 
distress  is  too  much  for  me. 

Yes,  the  jail  is  unavoidable.  I  will  say  it  to  myself  plainly, 
that  I  may  be  accustomed  to  the  prospect. 

The  All-merciful  have  mercy  on  my  dear  children!  I  may 
not — I  cannot  tell  them. 

Perhaps  a  speedy  death  will  save  me  from  the  disgrace.  I 
feel  my  bones  give  way ;  fever-shivering  is  in  my  limbs.  I 
cannot  write  for  trembling. 

Some  Hours  after. — Already  I  feel  more  composed.  I  would 
have  thrown  myself  into  the  arms  of  God  and  prayed.  But  I 
was  not  well.  I  lay  down  on  my  bed.  I  believe  I  have  slept, 
perhaps  also  I  fainted.  Some  three  hours  have  passed.  My 
daughters  have  covered  my  feet  with  pillows.  I  am  weak  in 
body,  but  my  heart  is  again  fresh.  Everything  that  has  hap- 
pened, which  I  have  been  told  of,  flits  before  me  like  a  dream. 

Alas !  it  is  true,  Brooks  has  hanged  himself.  Fieldson  sent 
for  me,  and  gave  me  the  intelligence.  He  had  an  official 
paper,  and  a  notice  of  my  liability,  for  it  seems  Brooks  left  a 
frightful  accumulation  of  debts.  He  was  thought  a  rich,  and 
an  honest  man  ;  I  never  dreamed  of  his  coming  to  such  an  end. 


222 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


He  reminded  me  that  I  must  account  to  Withiel,  the  woollen 
draper  of  Towbridge. 

Ficldson  had  good  cause  to  pity  me,  under  such  a  calamity- 
Great  God  !  An  hundred  pounds  !  How  shall  I  obtain  it  ?  All 
we  have  in  the  world,  if  sold,  would  not  bring  one  hundred  shil- 
lings !  The  little  property  my  wife  brought,  melted  away  during 
her  long  illness;  there  is  yet  a  piece  of  land  at  Bradford;  that 
must  be  sold  at  a  sacrifice.  But  all  is  vain;  I  am  a  beggar; 
and  must  go  to  jail  if  Withiel  is  not  merciful.  Payment  of  the 
debt  is  not  to  be  thought  of  as  possible ! 

The  same  Day,  in  the  Evening  — I  am  ashamed  of  my  weak- 
ness. What !  to  fall  into  despair  !  almost  to  doubt  of  Providence! 
a  minister  of  the  gospel,  too  !    Fye,  Thomas  ! 

1  have  recovered  my  composure,  done  all  in  my  power;  I 
have  just  carried  to  the  post-office  a  letter  to  Mr.  Withiel,  can- 
didly acknowledging  my  utter  inability  to  meet  his  claim,  and 
confessing  my  readiness  to  go  to  the  debtor's  prison.  If  he  is 
kind-hearted  he  will  have  compassion  on  me :  if  not,  let  him 
drag  me  where  he  pleases. 

Returning  from  the  post-office,  I  put  my  children's  fortitude 
to  the  proof.  I  wished  to  prepare  them  for  the  worst.  Ah  !  the 
girls  bore  it  more  manfully  than  the  man  ;  more  Christian-like 
than  the  Christian  minister  ! 

I  told  them  of  Brooks'  death,  of  my  liability  for  the  debt,  and 
the  possible  consequences.  Both  heard  me  with  deep  and  sor- 
rowful attention. 

"  To  prison !"  said  Jenny,  weeping  softly  and  embracing  me. 
"  Ah !  my  poor  dear  father  !  Thou  hast  done  no  wrong — and 
yet  thou  must  suffer  so  much !  But  I  will  go  myself  to  Trow- 
bridge ;  I  will  throw  myself  at  WithiePs  feet,  and  I  will  not 
rise  until  he  relents  !  " 

«  No,  Jenny,  you  shall  not ! "  cried  Polly,  sobbing.  "  He 
would  not  forgive  one  farthing  of  the  debt  for  all  your  tears. 
Merchants  are  merchants.  I  will  go  to  the  woollen-draper  and 
hire  myself  to  him  as  his  servant ;  I  will  live  on  bread  and 
water  all  the  days  of  my  life,  'till  I  have  earned  money  enough 
to  pay  father's  debt," 


THE  VICAR  OF  WILTSHIRE. 


223 


We  all  became  more  calm  while  talking  over  our  plans ;  but 
still  could  not  fail  to  perceive  how  hopeless  they  were.  At  last 
Jenny  said — "Why  disturb  ourselves  with  fruitless  schemes? 
Let  us  wait  Mr.  Withiel's  answer.  If  he  is  inexorable,  let  us 
be  resigned.  God  is  also  in  the  jail.  Go  then,  to  prison,  my 
father.  Perhaps  thou  wilt  be  better  there,  than  with  us,  amidst 
hardship  and  want.  And  there  is  no  disgrace,  for  thou  goest 
without  guilt.  We  will  both  enter  into  service,  and  with  our 
wages  buy  thee  everything  necessary.  I  will  not  be  ashamed 
even  to  beg.  To  go  a-begging  for  a  father  has  something  holy 
in  it.  We  will  come  and  visit  thee  from  time  to  time.  Thou 
shalt  be  well  taken  care  of.    We  will  fear  no  more." 

"  Jenny,  thou  art  right,"  said  Polly ;  "  whoever  fears,  does 
not  believe  in  God.  I  am  not  afraid.  I  will  be  cheerful — as 
cheerful  as  I  can  be,  separated  from  father  and  thee." 

Such  conversations  cheered  my  heart.  Fleetman  was  right 
when  he  said  that  I  had  two  angels  of  the  Lord  at  my  side. 

Sylvester-Day,  December  3\st. — The  year  is  ended.  Thanks 
be  to  Heaven,  it  has  been,  with  the  exception  of  some  storms,  a 
right  bountiful  and  happy  year !  It  is  true,  we  often  had 
scarcely  enough  to  eat — still  we  have  had  enough.  My  poor 
salary  has  often  occasioned  me  bitter  cares,  still  our  cares  have 
had  their  pleasures.  And  now  I  scarcely  possess  the  means  of 
supporting  myself  and  my  children  half  a  year  longer.  But 
how  many  have  not  even  as  much,  and  know  not  where  to  get 
another  day's  subsistence  !  My  place,  I  have  lost.  In  my  old 
age  I  am  without  office  or  bread.  It  is  possible  that  I  shall 
spend  the  next  year  in  a  jail,  separated  from  my  good  daughters. 
Still  Jenny  is  right ;  God  is  there  also  in  the  jail ! 

To  a  pure  conscience  there  is  no  hell  even  in  hell,  and  to  a 
bad  heart  no  heaven  in  heaven.    I  am  very  happy. 

He  who  can  endure  is  rich.  A  good  conscience  is  better 
than  that  which  the  world  names  honor.  As  soon  as  we  are 
able  to  look  with  indifference  upon  what  people  call  honor 
and  shame,  we  become  honorable.  He  who  can  despise  the 
world,  enjoys  Heaven.  I  understand  the  gospel  of  Christ  better 
every  day,  since  I  read  it  in  the  school  of  experience.  The 


ZSCHOKKETS  TALES. 


students  at  Oxford  and  Cambridge  study  the  letter,  not  the  spirit. 
Nature  is  the  best  interpreter  of  the  Scriptures. 
With  these  reflections  I  conclude  the  year. 

I  am  very  glad  that  I  have  now,  for  some  time,  kept  this  jour- 
nal. Everybody  should  keep  one.  One  learns  more  from 
himself  than  from  the  wisest  books.  When,  by  daily  setting 
down  our  thoughts  and  feelings,  we  in  a  manner  portray  our- 
selves, we  can  see  at  the  end  of  a  year  how  many  difFerent  faces 
we  have.  Man  is  not  always  like  himself.  He  who  says  he 
knows  himself,  can  answer  for  the  truth  of  what  he  says  only  at 
the  moment,  for  then  he  feels  himself.  Few  know  what  they 
were  yesterday  ;  still  fewer  what  they  will  be  to-morrow. 

A  day-book  is  useful,  also,  because  it  helps  us  to  grow  in 
faith  towards  God  and  Providence.  The  whole  history  of  the 
(vorld  does  not  teach  us  so  much  about  these  things  as  the 
thoughts,  judgments,  and  feelings  of  a  single  individual  for  a 
twelve-month. 

I  have  also  this  year  had  the  truth  of  the  old  sayings  con- 
firmed, that  "  Misfortunes  seldom  come  singly,"  and  "  the  darkest 
hour  is  just  before  morning."  When  things  go  hard  with  me, 
excepting  the  first  shock,  I  am  most  at  my  ease,  for  then  . 
please  myself  with  the  prospect  of  the  relief  which  is  to  suc- 
ceed, and  I  smile  because  nothing  can  disturb  me.  On  the 
other  hand,  when  everything  goes  according  to  my  wishes,  I 
am  timid  and  anxious,  and  cannot  give  myself  up  freely  to 
joy.  I  distrust  contentment.  Those  are  the  hardest  misfor- 
tunes, which  we  allow  to  surprise  us.  It  is  likewise  true  that 
trouble  looks  more  terrible  in  the  distance,  than  when  it  is  upor. 
us.    Clouds  are  never  so  black  when  near  as  they  seem  afar  oft 

I  have  learnt  from  all  my  calamities  to  consider,  with  the 
quickness  of  lightning,  what  will  be  their  worst  effect  upon  me. 
So  I  prepare  myself  for  the  worst,  and  it  seldom  comes. 

This  also  I  find  good — I  sometimes  play  with  my  hopes,  but  I 
never  let  my  hopes  play  with  me.  To  keep  Hope  in  check,  T 
have  only  to  remember  how  rarely  fortune  has  been  favorable 
to  me  ;  and  then  all  air  castles  vanish  as  if  they  were  ashamed 
to  appear  before  me.  Alas  for  him  who  is  the  sport  of  his 
hopes  !    He  pursues  will-o'-the-wisps  into  marshes. 


THE  VICAR  OF  WILTSHIRE. 


2V) 


new  year's  DAY,  1765.     A.  M. 

A  wonderful  yet  sad  affair  opens  the  year.  Here  follows  its 
history. 

Early  this  morning,  about  six  o'clock,  as  I  lay  in  bed  thinking 
over  my  sermon,  1  heard  a  knock  at  the  front  door.  Polly  was 
up  and  already  in  the  kitchen.  She  sprang  to  open  the  door  and 
see  who  was  there.  Such  early  visits  are  not  usual  with  us. 
In  the  darkness  of  the  morning,  she  could  only  recognize  a  man 
having  a  band-box  on  his  arm,  which  he  handed  to  Polly  with 

these  words  :  "Mr.  "  (Polly  lost  the  name)  -  sends  this 

box  to  the  Rev.  Vicar,  and  requests  him  to  be  very  careful  of 
the  contents." 

Polly  took  the  box  with  joyful  surprise.  The  carrier  disap- 
peared. Polly  tapped  lightly  at  my  chamber  door  to  see  whether 
I  was  awake.  She  came  in  on  my  answering,  and  wishing  me 
"a  happy  new  year,"  as  well  as  "good  morning,"  added  laugh- 
ing, "  you  will  see  now,  dear  father,  whether  Polly's  dreams 
are  not  prophetic.  The  promised  bishop's  mitre  is  come  \" 
Then  she  told  me  how  a  New  Year's  present  had  been  given  her 
for  me.  It  vexed  me,  that  she  had  not  asked  more  particularly 
for  the  name  of  my  unknown  patron  or  benefactor. 

While  she  went  out  to  light  a  lamp  and  call  Jenny  out  of  bed, 
I  dressed  myself.  I  cannot  deny  that  I  burned  with  curiosity. 
For  until  now  the  New  Year's  presents  for  the  vicar  of  Crekelad 
had  been  as  worthless  as  they  were  rare.  I  suspected  that  my 
patron,  the  farmer,  whose  good-will  I  appeared  to  have  won, 
meant  to  surprise  me  with  a  box  of  cake,  and  admired  his  mod- 
esty in  sending  me  the  present  before  he  could  be  seen. 

As  I  entered  the  parlor,  Polly  and  Jenny  were  standing  at  the 
table,  on  which  lay  the  box  directed  to  me,  carefully  sealed,  and 
of  such  a  size  as  I  had  never  seen  before.    I  lifted  it,  and  found  it 
pretty  heavy.    In  the  top  were  two  smoothly  cut  round  holes. 
16 


215 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


With  Jenny's  help,  I  opened  the  box  very  cautiously,  as  I 
had  been  warned  to  handle  the  contents  carefully.  A  fine  white 
cloth  was  removed,  and  lo  ! — but  no,  our  astonishment  is  not 
to  be  described  !    We  all  exclaimed  with  one  voice,  "  my  God  !" 

There  lay  a  little  sleeping  child,  some  six  or  eight  weeks  old, 
dressed  in  the  finest  linen,  with  rose-colored  ribbons.  Its  little 
head  rested  upon  a  soft  blue  silk  cushion,  and  it  was  well  wrapt 
up  in  a  blanket.  The  covering,  as  well  as  the  little  cap,  was 
trimmed  with  the  costliest  Brabant  lace. 

We  stood  a  few  minutes  in  silent  amazement,  till  at  length 
Polly  burst  out  into  a  silly  laugh,  and  said  :  "  What  shall  we  do 
with  the  little  captive  ?  It  is  no  bishop's  mitre  !"  Jenny  seemed 
rather  inclined  to  tears  than  laughter.  She  touched  its  soft 
cheek  with  her  finger,  saying,  "  Poor  little  thing,  hast  thou  no 
mother  !  How  cruel  to  abandon  so  helpless,  innocent  a  creature  ! 
See,  father,  see,  Polly,  how  quietly  it  sleeps — unconscious  of  its 
condition,  as  though  it  lay  in  the  hand  of  God  !  Sleep  on,  thou 
poor  forsaken  one  !  Thy  parents  are  perhaps  too  high  in  rank 
to  care  for  thee,  and  too  happy  to  permit  thee  to  disturb  their 
happiness.  Sleep  on,  we  will  not  cast  thee  out.  They  have 
brought  thee  to  the  right  place.    I  will  be  thy  mother." 

As  Jenny  spoke  thus  two  large  tears  fell  from  her  eyes.  I 
caught  the  pious  .gentle-hearted  creature  to  my  breast,  and  said, 
"  Yes,  be  mother  !  The  step-children  of  fortune  come  to  her  step- 
children. God  tries  our  faith — no,  he  does  not  try  it.  He 
Knows  it  already.  Therefore  is  this  outcast  little  creature 
brought  to  us.  True  we  do  not  know  how  we  shall  subsist  from 
one  day  to  another.  But  He  knows,  who  has  made  us  the  pa- 
rents of  this  orphan." 

Thus  it  was  soon  decided.-  The  child  continued  to  sleep  sweetly. 
In  the  meanwhile,  we  exhausted  ourselves  in  conjectures  about 
its  parents,  who  were  undoubtedly  known  to  us,  as  the  box  was 
directed  to  me  in  bold  letters.  Polly,  alas  !  could  tell  us  nothing 
more  of  the  bringer  of  it  than  she  had  already  told.  Now, 
while  the  little  thing  softly  slumbers  and  I  run  over  my  new 
year's  sermon  upon  "  the  Power  of  the  Eternal  Providence," 
my  daughters  are  holding  a  council  about  the  nursing  of  the 
new-comer.    Polly  rejoices  like  a  child.    Jenny  appears  to  be 


THE  VTCAR  OF  WILTSHIRE. 


227 


much  moved.  With  me,  it  seems  as  if  I  entered  upon  the  new 
year  at  a  season  of  wonders,  and — it  may  be  superstition,  or  it 
may  be  not — as  if  this  little  child  were  sent  to  be  our  guardian 
angel  in  our  need.  I  cannot  express  how  much  more  freely  I 
breathe,  and  how  serene  my  feelings. 

Same  day.  Evening. — I  came  home  greatly  exhausted  and 
weary  with  the  sacred  labors  of  the  day.  i  was  compelled  to  pass 
over  an  exceedingly  bad  road  on  foot.  But  I  was  enlivened  by  a 
happy  return  home,  by  the  cheerfulness  of  my  daughters,  by 
our  pleasant  little  parlor.  The  table  was  ready  laid  for  me, 
and  on  it  stood  a  flask  of  wine.  It  was  a  New  Year's  present 
from  an  unknown  hand. 

The  looks  of  the  sweet  little  fellow  in  Jenny's  arms  invigor- 
ated me  above  all  things.  Polly  showed  me  the  beautiful  little 
bed  of  our  nursling,  the  dozen  fine  napkins,  the  dear  little  caps 
and  night-clothes  which  were  in  the  box,  and  then  a  sealed 
packet  of  money  directed  to  me,  which  they  had  found  at  the 
feet  of  the  child  when  it  awoke,  and  had  taken  it  out. 

Anxious  to  learn  something  of  the  parentage  of  our  little  un- 
known inmate,  I  opened  the  packet.  It  contained  a  roll  of 
twenty  guineas  and  a  letter  as  follows : 

"  Reverend  Sm  : — To  your  well  known  humanity  and  kind- 
ness the  unfortunate  parents  of  this  infant  entrust  him.  Do 
not  forsake  it.  We  may  one  day  be  enabled  to  show  you  our 
gratitude  when  circumstances  permit  us  to  make  ourselves 
known.  Although  at  a  distance,  whatever  you  do  for  him  will 
not  fail  to  be  seen  by  us.  The  boy's  name  is  Alfred.  He  has 
been  already  christened.  The  twenty  guineas  enclosed  are  for 
the  first  quarter  ;  every  three  months  you  will  be  punctually 
remitted  the  like  sum.  Receive  our  child.  We  commend  him 
to  the  kind  care  of  your  noble-hearted  Jenny." 

When  I  had  read  the  letter,  Polly  leaped  with  joy,  and  cried, 
"  There's  the  bishop's  mitre  !"  Gracious  heaven  !  how  rich 
we're  suddenly  become.  Away  with  you,  miserable  Vicarship ! 
But  I  will  not  so  rejoice!  The  letter  might  have  mentioned  the 
noble  Polly  too!  We  read  the  letter  a  dozen  times.  We  did 
not  trust  our  eyes  with  a  glance  at  the  gold  upon  the  table. 


228 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


What  a  New  Year's  present!  From  my  heaviest  cares  for  the 
future,  was  I  thus  suddenly  released.  But  in  what,  a  strange  and 
unexpected  way  !  In  vain  did  I  think  over  all  the  people  I  knew, 
in  order  to  discover  who  it  might  be  who  had  been  forced  by 
birth  or  rank  to  conceal  the  existence  of  their  child,  or  who  were 
able  to  make  such  a  liberal  compensation  for  a  simple  service  of 
Christian  charity.  1  thought  on.  I  recollected  no  one.  And 
yet  these  parents  were  well  acquainted  with  me  and  mine. 
The  ways  of  Providence  are  wonderful ! 

Jan.  2. — Fortune  is  lavishing  her  favors  upon  me.  This  morn- 
ing again  I  received  a  packet  of  money,  twelve  pounds  sterling, 
by  the  post,  with  a  letter  from  Mr.  Fleetman.  It  is  too  much. 
For  a  shilling  he  returns  me  a  pound.  Things  must  have  gone 
well  with  him.  He  hints  as  much,  even.  I  cannot,  alas,  thank 
him,  for  he  has  forgotten  to  mention  his  address.  God  forbid  I 
should  be  puffed  up  with  my  present  riches  !  I  hope  now  in  time 
to  pay  off  honestly  my  bond  for  Brooks  to  Mr.  Withiel. 

When  I  told  my  daughters  that  I  had  received  a  letter  from 
Mr.  Fleetman,  there  was  a  new  festival.  I  do  not  understand 
what  the  girls  have  to  do  with  Mr.  Fleetman.  Jenny  grew  very 
red,  and  Polly  jumped  up  laughing,  and  held  both  her  hands  be- 
fore Jenny's  face.  Jenny  behaved  as  if  she  was  right  mad  at 
the  foolish  girl. 

I  read  Fleetman 's  letter.  I  could  scarcely  do  it,  for  the  young 
man  is  an  enthusiast.  He  writes  flatteries  which  I  do  not  de- 
serve. He  exaggerates  everything,  even  indeed  when  he  speaks 
of  the  good  Jenny.  I  pitied  the  poor  and  modest  girl  while  I 
read.  I  did  not  dare  to  look  at  my  daughter.  The  passage, 
however,  which  relates  to  her,  is  worthy  of  note.    It  runs  thus: 

"  When,  sir,  I  went  from  your  door,  1  felt  as  if  I  went  from  a 
father's  roof  out  into  the  bleak  world.  I  shall  never  forget  you, 
never  forget  how  happy  I  was  with  you.  I  see  you  always  be- 
fore me,  in  your  rich  poverty,  in  your  Christian  humility,  in 
your  patriarchal  simplicity.  And  the  admirable,  smiling,  fasci- 
nating Polly;  and  the — ah  !  for  your  Jenny  I  have  no  epithet. 
In  what  words  shall  one  describe  the  heavenly  loveliness  by 
which  everything  earthly  is  breathed  ?    I  shall  for  ever  re- 


THE  VICAR  OF  WILTSHIRE. 


229 


member  the  moment  when  she  gave  me  the  twelve  shillings,  and 
the  consolatory  language  in  which  she  accosted  me.  Wonder 
not  that  I  have  the  twelve  shillings  still.  I  would  not  part  with 
them  for  a  thousand  guineas.  1  shall  soon  perhaps  make  every, 
thing  clear  to  you  personally.  Never  in  my  life  have  I  been  so 
happy  or  so  miserable  as  I  am  now.  Commend  me  to  your  pre- 
cious daughters,  if  they  still  bear  me  in  remembrance." 

So  he  intends  to  come  to  Crekelad  again  !  It  would  give  me 
pleasure.  1  could  then  return  him  my  thanks.  In  his  unbound- 
ed gratitude,  the  young  man  has  perhaps  sent  me  his  all,  because 
I  once  lent  him  half  of  my  ready  money.  That  grieves  me. 
He  seems  to  be  a  light-minded  youth,  yet  he  has  an  honest  heart. 
The  little  Alfred  rejoices  us.  The  child  laughed  to-day  at 
Polly,  as  Jenny  was  holding  him,  like  a  young  mother,  in  her 
arms.  Tne  girls  are  more  handy  with  the  little  cosmopolite  than 
I  had  anticipated.  But  it  is  a  beautiful  child.  We  have  bought 
him  a  handsome  cradle,  and  provided  in  abundance  for  all  his 
little  wants.  The  cradle  stands  at  Jenny's  bedside.  She  watches 
day  and  night  like  a  guardian  spirit,  over  her  tender  charge. 

Jan.  3d. — To-day  Mr.  Vicar  Bleching  arrived  at  the  inn  wilh 
his  young  wife,  and  sent  for  me.  I  went  to  him  immediately. 
He  is  an  agreeable  man  and  has  a  great  deal  of  politeness.  He 
informed  me  that  he  was  my  successor  in  office,  that  he  wished, 
if  I  had  no  objections,  to  enter  immediately  upon  his  duties,  and 
that  1  might  in  the  meantime  occupy  the  parsonage  until  Easter  : 
he  would  in  the  interval  take  up  his  abode  in  lodgings  prepared 
for  him  at  Alderman  Fieldson's. 

I  replied  that,  if  it  would  give  him  pleasure,  I  would  resign  my 
office  to  him  immediately,  in  order  to  be  on  that  account  more  at 
liberty  to  look  out  for  another  situation.  Only  I  desired  to  preach 
a  farewell  sermon  to  my  parishioners,  in  the  churches  in  which  1 
had  for  so  many  years  declared  the  word  of  the  Lord. 

He  then  said  that  he  would  come  in  the  afternoon  to  examine 
the  state,  of  the  parsonage. — He  has  been  here  with  his  wife  and 
Alderman  Fieldson.  The  young  woman  was  far  gone.  She 
was  somewhat  haughty  and  appears  to  be  of  high  birth,  for  there 
was  nothing  in  the  house  that  was  as  it  ought  to  be,  and  she 


t 


230  ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 

hardly  deigned  to  look  at  my  daughters.  When  she  saw  the 
little  Alfred  in  the  cradle,  she  turned  to  Jenny  and  asked 
whether  she  were  already  married.  The  good  Jenny  blushed 
up  to  her  hair,  and  shook  her  little  head  in  denial  and  stammer- 
ed out  something.  I  had  to  come  to  the  poor  girl's  relief.  Mrs. 
Bleching  listened  to  my  story  with  great  curiosity,  and  drew  up 
her  mouth,  and  shrugged  her  shoulders.  It  was  very  disagreea- 
ble, but  I  said  nothing.  I  invited  them  to  take  a  cup  of  tea,  but 
they  declined.  The  vicar  appeared  to  be  very  obedient  to  the 
slightest  hint  of  the  lady. 

We  were  very  glad  when  the  visit  was  over. 

Jan.  6ih. — Mr.  WTithiel  is  an  excellent  man,  to  judge  from  his 
letter.  He  sympathizes  with  me  in  regard  to  my  unfortunate 
bond,  and  comforts  me  with  the  declaration  that  I  must  not  dis- 
quiet myself  if  lam  not  able  to  pay  it  for  ten  years  or  ever.  He  ap- 
pears to  be  acquainted  with  my  domestic  circumstances,  for  he  al- 
ludes to  them  very  delicately.  He  considers  me  an  honest  man  ; 
that  gratifies  me  most.  He  shall  not  be  mistaken.  I  will  ride 
to  Trowbridge  as  soon  as  I  can,  and  pay  Mr.  Withiel  Fleetman's 
twelve  pounds  sterling,  as  an  instalment  of  my  enormous  debt. 

Although  Jenny  insists  that  she  sleeps  soundly  with  little  Al- 
fred, who  is  very  quiet  o'  nights,  and  only  wakes  once,  when  she 
gives  him  a  drink  out  of  his  little  bottle,  I  feel  anxious  about  the 
maiden.  She  is  not  so  lively  by  far,  as  formerly,  although  she 
seems  so  much  serener  and  happier  than  when  we  were  every 
day  troubled  about  our  daily  bread.  Sometimes  she  sits  with  her 
needle,  lost  in  a  reverie,  dreaming  with  open  eyes ;  or  her  hands, 
once  so  diligent,  lie  sunk  upon  her  lap.  When  she  is  spoken  to, 
she  starts,  and  has  to  bethink  herself  what  was  said.  Evidently  all 
this  comes  from  the  interruption  of  her  proper  rest.  But  she  will 
not  hear  a  word  of  it.  We  cannot  even  persuade  her  to  take  a  lit- 
tle nap  in  the  daytime.    She  declares  that  she  feels  perfectly  well. 

I  had  no  idea  that  she  was  so  vain.  Fleetman's  praises  have 
not  displeased  her.  She  has  asked  me  for  his  letter  to  read  once 
more.  And  she  has  not  yet  returned  it  to  me,  but  keeps  it  in 
her  work-basket ! 

For  my  sake  !  the  vain  thing  ! 


THE  VICAR  OF  WILTSHIRE. 


231 


Jan.  Slh. — My  farewell  sermon  drew  forth  the  tears  of 
most  of  my  hearers.  I  see  now  for  the  first  time  that  my  pa- 
rishioners love  me.  They  have  expressed  their  obligations  on  all 
hands  and  loaded  me  with  gifts.  I  never  before  had  such  an 
abundance  of  provisions  in  the  house,  so  many  dainties  of  all 
kinds,  and  so  much  wine.  A  hundredth  part  of  my  present  plenty 
would  have  made  me  account  myself  over-fortunate  in  past  days. 
We  are  really  swimming  in  plenty.  But  a  goodly  portion  has 
already  been  disposed  of.  I  know  some  poor  families  in  Creke- 
lad,  and  Jenny  knows  even  more  than  I.  The  dear  people  share 
in  our  pleasures. 

I  could  not  deliver  my  farewell  sermon  without  deep  emotion. 
It  was  written  with  many  tears.  I  was  parting  from  what  has 
hitherto  been  my  world,  my  business,  my  pursuit  in  life.  I  am 
thrust  out  of  the  vineyard  like  a  superannuated  servant ;  yet 
have  I  labored  not  as  an  hireling  ;  I  have  planted  some  promis- 
ing vines,  and  pruned  many.  I  am  driven  from  the  field  of  my 
labors,  where  night  and  day  I  have  toiled,  and  watched,  and 
planted,  and  pruned,  and  prayed.  I  have  sought  the  bed  of  the  sick, 
and  shrunk  not  from  fatigue,  so  I  might  administer  strength,  and 
comfort,  and  holy  hope  to  the  dying.  I  have  warned  sinners  to 
turn  from  their  evil  ways  ;  I  have  filled  the  destitute  with  joy ; 
I  have  led  back  the  lost  to  the  way  of  life.  All  this  I  say  with- 
out pride  ;  these  souls  are  knit  to  mine  with  the  strongest  ties,  and 
now  that  tie  is  broken.  Why  should  not  my  heart  bleed  ?  But 
God's  will  be  done  ! 

Most  gladly  would  I  ask  the  favor  of  Dr.  Snarl,  to  allow  me 
to  remain,  and  perform  the  vicar's  duty  without  salary,  had  not 
my  successor  already  entered  upon  his  office  !  I  am  used  to 
poverty  and  hardship  from  my  childhood;  I  should  not  fear 
them,  now  that  I  have  enough,  and  more  than  enough,  with  the 
money  sent  and  promised  with  Alfred,  to  keep  me  and  my  daugh- 
ters from  want.  We  could  be  happy,  and  lay  by  enough  for  days 
of  sickness  or  adversity.  I  would  never  more  complain  of  wind 
and  weather,  however  often  arid  severely  they  beat  upon  my 
grey  head,  were  I  only  privileged  still  to  preach  the  word  of  God 
to  my  dear  parishioners  ! 

Be  it  so ;  I  will  not  murmur.    The  tears  that  fall  upon  this 


232 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


sheet  are  not  tears  of  discontent.  I  have  never  prayed  for 
riches  or  prosperity,  nor  do  I  pray  for  them  now.  Cut  oh, 
Lord  !  let  not  thy  servant  be  dismissed  entirely  from  Thy  ser- 
vic e,  while  he  has  yet  strength  to  wait  on  Thee  !  Grant  that  I 
may  again  enter  into  Thy  vineyard,  and  with  Thy  blessing,  win 
souls. 

Jan.  ISth. — My  journey  to Towbridge  has  altogether  surpassed 
my  expectations.  I  arrived  late  at  night  with  weary  feet  at  a  little 
olo  city,  and  could  not  rouse  myself  from  sleep  until  late  the  next 
morning.  After  I  had  put  on  my  clean  clothes  (I  had  not  been  so 
finely  dressed  since  my  wedding-day — the  good  Jenny  has  a 
daughterly  care  for  her  father),  I  left  the  inn  and  went  to  Mr. 
Witfflel'g.    He  lives  in  a  magnificent  big  house. 

He  received  me  at  first  somewhat  coldly,  but  when  I  mention- 
ed my  name,  he  led  me  into  his  small  but  beautiful  office.  Here 
I  thanked  him  for  his  great  goodness  and  consideration,  told 
him  how  I  had  happened  to  give  the  bond,  and  what  hard  for- 
tunes had  hitherto  been  mine.  I  then  laid  my  twelve  pounds 
upon  the  table. 

Mr.  Withiel,  smiling,  looked  at  me  for  a  while  in  silence,  and 
with  some  emotion,  and  extended  his  hand  to  shake  mine,  and  said, 
"  I  know  you  already.  I  have  informed  myself  particularly 
about  you.  You  are  an  honest  man.  Take  your  twelve  pounds 
back.  I  cannot  find  it  in  my  heart  to  rob  you  of  your  New 
Year's  present.  Rather  let  me  add  a  pound  to  it,  if  you  will  be 
so  good  as  to  take  it,  to  remember  me  by." 

He  arose,  brought  a  paper  from  another  room,  opened  it  and 
said,  "  You  know  this  bond  and  your  signature  ?  I  give  it  to 
you  and  your  children."  He  tore  the  paper  in  two,  and  placed 
it  in  my  hand. 

I  could  find  no  words,  I  was  so  moved.  My  eyes  filled.  He 
saw  that  1  would  thank  him,  but  could  not,  and  he  said,  "  Whist ! 
whist !  not  a  syllable.  I  pray  you  ;  that  is  the  only  thanks  I  desire 
of  y:>u.  I  would  gladly  have  forgiven  poor  Brooks  the  debt,  had 
he  only  dealt  frankly  with  me." 

I  don't  know  a  more  noble-hearted  man  than  Mr.  Withiel. 
He  was  too  good.    He  wished  me  to  relate  to  him  much  of  my 


THE  VICAR  OF  WILTSHIRE. 


233 


past  history.  He  introduced  me  to  his  wife,  and  to  the  young 
gentleman  his  son.  He  had  my  little  bundle,  containing  my 
old  clothes,  brought  from  the  inn,  and  kept  me  at  his  house. 
The  entertainment  was  princely.  The  chamber  in  which  I  slept, 
the  carpet,  the  bed,  were  so  splendid  and  costly  that  I  hardly 
dared  to  make  use  of  them. 

The  next  day  my  kind  friend  sent  me  back  to  Crekelad  in  his 
e  legant  carriage.  I  parted  full  of  emotion  from  my  benefactor. 
My  girls  wept  with  me  for  joy,  when  I  showed  them  the  torn 
bond,  and  said,  "  See  ;  this  piece  of  paper,  light  as  it  is,  was  yet 
the  heaviest  burden  of  my  life.  Pray  for  the  life  and  happiness 
of  our  deliverer." 

January  \Gth. — Yesterday  was  the  most  remarkable  day  of 
my  life. 

We  were  together  before  dinner  to-day ;  Alfred  was  in  his 
cradle,  which  I  rocked,  while  Polly  read  from  a  book,  and  Jenny 
was  sewing  by  the  window.  Suddenly  Jenny  started  up,  and  be- 
came pale  as  death.  We  asked  what  was  the  matter.  "  He  is 
coming,"  she  replied  ;  and  the  next  instant  the  door  flew  open 
and  Fleetman  entered  in  an  elegant  travelling  suit.  We  all 
greeted  him  cordially,  and  were  right  glad  to  see  him  again, 
unexpected  as  was  his  entrance — and  especially  to  see  him  in  bet- 
ter circumstances  than  before  ;  he  embraced  me,  kissed  Mary, 
and  bowed  to  Jenny,  not  yet  recovered  from  her  agitation.  Her 
paleness  attracted  his  attention.  He  inquired  earnestly  about 
her  health.  Polly  answered  his  inquiry,  and  he  then  kissed 
Jenny's  hand  as  if  in  atonement  for  having  caused  her  so  much 
fright.  But  nothing  was  to  be  said  about  it,  as  the  poor  girl 
blushed  like  an  opening  rose. 

I  bade  the  girls  bring  out  wine  and  cold  meats,  to  entertain 
my  guest  and  friend  in  rather  better  style  than  before  ;  but  he 
declined  my  invitation,  having  left,  he  said,  his  company  at  the 
inn.  Yet  at  Jenny's  entreaty  he  consented  to  sit  down  and 
lunch  with  us. 

As  he  had  spoken  of  his  "  company,"  I  supposed  of  course, 
he  meant  a  theatrical  company,  and  I  asked  if  they  expected  to 
play  here  in  Crekelad,  adding,  that  it  was  a  poor  place.  Fleet- 


234 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


man  laughed,  and  said,  "  We  will  act  a  piece  or  so,  but  it  shall 
be  altogether  gratuitous."  Polly  was  delighted  to  hear  this; 
she  had  always  wished,  she  said,  to  see  a  play.  She  told  the 
news  to  Jenny,  who  just  then  came  in  with  the  wine. 

"  Have  you  many  actors  in  your  company,  Mr.  Fleetman  ?" 
asked  Polly.  He  replied,  "  Only  a  gentleman  and  his  wife,  but 
they  are  both  excellent  performers.'" 

Jenny  looked  unusually  grave.  She  cast  a  sorrowful  glance 
towards  Fleetman,  and  asked,  "And  you,  sir — are  you  going  to 
perform  V  This  was  said  in  that  soft  but  marked  and  penetrat- 
ing voice,  which  I  seldom  observed  but  when  she  was  seriously 
deciding  upon  some  important  step.  Poor  Fleetman  trembled 
even,  at  this  solemn  tone,  like  that  of  a  doom-angel.  He  did  not 
answer  for  a  moment ;  then  stepping  nearer  to  her,  he  said 
almost  in  a  whisper,  "  That,  by  my  God  and  yours,  Miss  Jenny, 
depends  upon  you." 

My  daughter  looked  down  ;  he  spoke  ;  she  replied  ;  and  I 
confess  I  was  rather  at  a  loss  to  know  what  they  meant.  Polly 
and  I  listened,  but  we  neither  heard  a  word,  or  rather  heard 
words  without  any  meaning.  And  yet  Fleetman  and  Jenny 
appeared  not  only  to  understand  one  another  perfectly,  but,  what 
struck  me  as  very  strange,  Fleetman  was  deeply  moved  by 
Jenny's  answers,  although  they  expressed  the  veriest  trifles.  At 
last  Fleetman  clasped  his  hands  passionately  to  his  breast,  raised 
his  eyes,  streaming  with  tears,  to  heaven,  and  with  an  impressive 
appearance  of  emotion,  exclaimed,  "  Then  am  I  indeed  un- 
happy !" 

Polly  could  hold  out  no  longer.  With  a  comical  vivacity,  she 
looked  from  one  to  the  other,  and  at  last  cried  out,  "  I  do  believe 
that  you  two  are  beginning  a  comedy  already  !" 

He  pressed  Polly's  hand,  and  said,  "  Ah  !  that  it  were  so !" 

I  put  an  end  to  the  confusion  by  pouring  out  the  wine.  We 
drank  to  the  welfare  of  our  friend.  Fleetman  turned  to  Jenny, 
and  stammered  out,  "  Miss,  in  earnest,  my  welfare  ?"  She  laid 
her  hand  upon  her  heart,  cast  down  her  eyes,  and  drank. 

Our  guest  went  to  the  cradle,  and  asked  many  questions  about 
little  Alfred.  I  related  the  circumstances  of  my  singular  New 
Year's  present,  and  my  vain  conjectures  as  to  who  had  sent  it. 


THE  VICAR  OF  WILTSHIRE. 


235 


"  I  can  give  you  some  information  respecting  that,"  said  he. 
"The  New  Year's  present  came  from  me." 

"From  you  !"  exclaimed  I  and  the  girls,  with  incredulous  as- 
tonishment. 

Then  he  told  us  the  following  story  : 

u  I  am  no  comedian,  but  a  baronet,  and  my  name  is  Cecil  Fayr- 
ford.  My  sister  and  myself  have  been  long  kept  wrongfully 
from  the  estate  we  inherited  from  our  late  father,  by  an  uncle, 
who  made  some  difficulty  about  the  will,  and  involved  us  in  a 
lawsuit.  We  have  lived,  till  very  recently,  on  a  little  property 
left  us  by  our  mother.  My  sister  suffered  much  from  the  tyranny 
of  our  uncle,  who  was  her  guardian.  He  had  promised  her  in 
marriage  to  one  of  his  friends  ;  whereas  she  was  betrothed  to 
the  son  of  Lord  Sandom,  whose  father,  meanwhile,  was  bent  on 
forcing  his  son  to  wed  a  rich  heiress  he  had  in  view.  The  lovers, 
persecuted  as  they  were,  resolved  on  a  private  union  ;  and  short- 
ly after,  their  marriage  was  solemnized  without  the  knowledge 
of  either  my  uncle  or  Lord  Sandom. 

"  Alfred  is  their  son.  My  sister  went,  under  my  protection,  to 
reside  in  a  country  place,  where  she  could  have  the  benefit  of 
sea  bathing,  as  her  health  was  delicate.  When  the  child  was 
born,  our  great  concern  was  to  find  a  place  for  it  where  it  would 
have  the  tenderest  care.  I  accidentally  heard  a  touching  ac- 
count of  the  poverty  and  humanity  of  the  parish  minister  of 
Crekelad,  and  I  came  hither  to  satisfy  myself.  The  manner  in 
which  I  was  treated  by  you  decided  me. 

"  I  have  forgotten  to  mention  that  my  sister  never  returned  to 
her  guardian  ;  for  about  six  months  ago  I  won  the  suit  against 
him,  and  entered  into  possession  of  my  patrimony.  My  uncle 
instituted  a  new  suit  against  me  for  withdrawing  my  sister  from 
his  charge  ;  but  the  old  Lord  Sandom  died  suddenly  a  few  days 
ago  of  apoplexy,  and  my  brother-in-law  has  made  his  marriage 
public.  So  that  the  suit  falls  to  the  ground,  and  all  cause  for 
keeping  the  child's  birth  secret  is  removed.  Its  parents  have 
now  come  with  me  to  take  the  child  away,  and  I  have  come  to 
take  you  and  your  family  away,  if  the  proposal  I  make  you  shall 
be  accepted. 

"  During  the  lawsuit  in  which  I  have  been  engaged,  the  living, 


£36 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES 


which  is  in  the  gift  of  my  family,  has  remained  unoccupied, 
have  at  my  disposal  this  situation,  which  yields  over  two  hun 
dred  pounds  per  annum.    You,  sir,  have  lost  your  place.  I 
shall  not  be  happy  unless  you  come  and  reside  near  me,  and  ac- 
cept this  living." 

God  only  knows  how  I  was  affected  at  these  words.  My  eyes 
were  blinded  with  tears  of  joy.  I  stretched  out  my  hands  to  the 
man  who  came  a  messenger  from  heaven.  I  fell  upon  his  breast. 
Polly  threw  her  arms  around  him  with  a  cry  of  delight.  Jenny 
thankfully  kissed  the  baronet's  hand.  But  he  snatched  it  from 
her  with  visible  agitation  and  left  us. 

My  happy  children  were  still  holding  me  in  their  embraces,  and 
wc  were  still  mingling  our  tears  and  congratulations,  when  the  ba- 
ronet returned,  bringing  his  brother-in-law,  Lord  Sandom,  with 
his  wife.  The  latter  was  an  uncommonly  beautiful  young  lady. 
Without  saluting  us,  she  ran  to  the  cradle  of  her  child.  She 
krfelt  down  over  the  little  Alfred,  kissed  his  cheeks,  and  wept 
freely  with  mingled  pain  and  delight.  Her  lord  raised  her  up, 
and  had  much  trouble  in  composing  her. 

When  she  had  recovered  her  composure  and  apologized  to  us 
all  for  her  behavior,  she  thanked  first  me  and  then  Polly,  in  the 
most  touching  terms.  Polly  disowned  all  obligation,  and  pointed 
to  Jenny,  who  had  withdrawn  to  the  window,  and  said,  "  My 
sister  there  has  been  its  mother  !" 

Lady  Sandom  approached  Jenny,  gazed  at  her  long  in  silence 
and  with  evidently  grateful  surprise,  and  then  glanced  at  her 
brother  with  a  smile,  and  folded  Jenny  in  her  arms.  The  dear 
Jenny,  in  her  modesty,  scarcely  dared  to  look  up.  "  I  am  your 
debtor,"  said  my  lady,  "  but  the  service  you  have  rendered  to  a 
mother's  heart  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  repay.  Become  a  sis- 
ter  to  me,  lovely  Jenny  ;  sisters  can  have  no  obligations  between 
them."  As  they  embraced  each  other,  the  baronet  approached. 
"  There  stands  my  poor  brother,"  said  my  lady ;  "  as  you  are 
now  my  sister,  he  may  come  nearer  to  your  heart,  dear  Jenny, 
may  he  not  V9 

Jenny  blushed  and  said,  "  He  is  my  father's  benefactor." 

"  Will  you  not  be,"  replied  the  lady,  "  the  benefactress  of  my 


THE  VICAR  OF  WILTSHIRE. 


237 


poor  brother  1  Look  kindly  on  him.  If  you  only  knew  how 
he  loves  you !" 

The  baronet  took  Jenny's  hand  and  kissed  it,  and  said,  as 
Jenny  struggled  to  withdraw  it,  "  Miss,  will  you  be  unkind  to 
me  ?  I  am  unhappy  without  this  hand."  Jenny,  much  dis- 
turbed, let  her  hand  remain  in  his.  The  baronet  then  led  my 
daughter  to  me,  and  begged  me  for  my  blessing. 

"  Jenny,"  said  I,  "  it  depends  upon  thee.  Do  we  dream  ? 
Canst  thou  love  him  ?    Do  thou  decide." 

She  then  turned  to  the  baronet,  who  stood  before  her,  deeply 
agitated,  and  cast  upon  him  a  full  penetrating  look,  and  then 
took  his  hand  in  both  hers,  pressed  it  to  her  breast,  looked  up  to 
heaven,  and  softly  whispered,  "  God  has  decided." 

I  blessed  my  son  and  my  daughter.  They  embraced.  There 
was  a  solemn  silence.    All  eyes  were  wet. 

Suddenly  Polly  sprang  up,  laughing  through  her  tears,  and 
flung  herself  upon  my  neck,  while  she  cried,  "  There !  we  have 
it !  The  New  Year's  present  ?  Bishop's  mitres  upon  bishop's 
mitres !" 

Little  Alfred  awoke. 

It  is  in  vain — I  cannot  describe  this  day.  My  happy  heart  is 
full,  and  I  am  continually  interrupted. 


Note. — To  a  translation  of  this  tale,  published  with  several  others  of 
Zschokke,  by  Carey  &  Hart  of  Philadelphia — about  the  best  translations  of 
the  author  I  have  seen — the  translator  has  appended  the  following  fragment, 
which  he  found  in  the  "  Boston  Chronicle"  of  1766,  reprinted  from  the  British 
Magazine,  which  Zschokke  mentions  in  his  introductory  note  on  page  203.  It 
is  very  curious. 

TUB  JOURNAL  OF  A  WILTSHIRE  CURATE. 

Monday. — Received  .£10  from  my  Rector,  Dr.  Snarl,  being  one  half  year's 
salary.  Obliged  to  wait  a  long  time  before  my  admittance  to  the  Doctor  ;  and 
even  when  admitted  was  never  once  asked  to  sit  down  or  refresh  myself,  though 
I  had  walked  eleven  miles.  Item :  the  Doctor  hinted  that  he  could  have  the 
curacy  filled  for  £15  a  year. 

Tuesday. — Paid  £9  to  seven  different  people,  but  could  not  buy  the  second- 
hand pair  of  black  breeches  offered  me  as  a  great  bargain  by  Cabbage,  the 


238 


ZSCHOKKE'S  TALES. 


tailor;  my  wife  wanting  a  petticoat  above  all  things,  and  neither  Betsey  nor 
Polly  having  a  shoe  to  go  to  church. 

Wednesday. — My  wife  bought  a  petticoat  for  herself,  and  shoes  for  her  two 
daughters ;  but  unluckily  in  coming  home  dropped  half  a  guinea,  through  a 
hole  which  she  had  never  before  perceived  in  her  pocket,  and  reduced  all  our 
cash  in  the  world  to  a  half  crown.  Item  :  chid  my  poor  woman  for  being  af- 
flicted at  the  misfortune,  and  tenderly  advised  her  to  depend  upon  the  goodness 
of  God. 

Thursday. — Received  a  note  from  the  alehouse  at  the  top  of  the  hill,  in- 
forming me  that  a  gentleman  begged  to  speak  to  me  on  pressing  business. 
Went  and  found  it  was  an  unfortunate  member  of  a  strolling  company  of 
players,  who  was  pledged  for  7^d.  In  a  struggle  what  to  do  ;  the  baker, 
though  we  had  paid  him  but  on  Tuesday,  quarrelled  with  us,  to  avoid  giving 
any  credit  in  future  ;  and  George  Greasy,  the  butcher,  sent  us  word  that  he 
heard  it  whispered  how  the  rector  intended  to  take  a  curate  who  would  do  tho 
parish  duty  at  an  inferior  price  ;  and  therefore,  though  he  would  do  any  thing 
to  serve  me,  advised  me  to  deal  with  Peter  Paunch,  at  the  upper  end  of  the 
town  :  mortifying  reflections  these.  But  a  want  of  humanity  is  in  my  opinion 
a  want  of  justice.  The  Father  of  the  universe,  lends  his  blessings  to  us  with  a 
view  that  we  should  relieve  a  brother  in  distress  ;  and  we  consequently  do  no 
more  than  pay  a  debt,  when  we  perform  an  act  of  benevolence.  Paid  the 
stranger's  reckoning  out  of  the  shilling  in  my  pocket,  and  gave  him  the  re- 
mainder of  the  money  to  prosecute  his  journey. 

Friday. — A  very  scanty  dinner,  and  pretended  therefore  to  be  ill,  that  by 
avoiding  to  eat,  I  might  leave  something  like  enough  for  my  poor  wife  and  the 
children.  I  told  my  wife  what  I  had  done  with  the  shilling  ;  the  excellent 
creature,  instead  of  blaming  me  for  the  action,  blessed  the  goodness  of  my 
heart,  and  burst  into  tears.  Mem  :  Never  to  contradict  her  as  long  as  I  live  ; 
— for  the  mind  that  can  argue  like  hers,  though  it  may  deviate  from  the  more 
rigid  sentiments  of  prudence,  is  even  amiable  for  its  indiscretion  ;  and  in  every 
lapse  from  the  severity  of  economy,  performs  an  act  of  virtue  superior  to  the 
value  of  a  kingdom. 

Saturday. — Wrote  a  sermon,  which  on  Sunday  I  preached  at  four  different 
parish  churches,  and  came  home  excessively  weary  and  excessively  hungry  ; 
no  more  money  than  2£d.  in  the  house  ;  but  see  the  goodness  of  God, — the 
strolling  player  whom  I  had  relieved  was  a  man  of  fortune,  who  accidentally 
heard  that  I  was  as*humane  as  I  was  indigent,  and  from  a  generous  eccen- 
tricity of  temper  wanted  to  do  me  an  essential  piece  of  service.  I  had  not 
been  an  hour  at  home  when  he  came  in,  and  declaring  himself  my  friend  put 
a  £50  note  into  my  hand,  and  the  next  day  presented  me  with  a  living  of  .£300 
a  year. 


